IREN^EUS  LETTERS 


ORIGINALLY  PUBLISHED 


IN  THE 


NEW  YORK   OBSERVER. 


THE  NEW  YORK  OBSERVER. 

1881. 


COPYRIGHT,  1880,  BY 
NEW  YORK  OBSERVER. 


Prest  of 

8.  W.  Gunn'g  Sow, 

14  Beckman  Street, 

Mew  York. 


PS 
6 

r? 
1881 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE, 

BY  THE  EDITORS  OF  THE  NEW  YORK  OBSERVER. 

IN  the  year  1837  the  signature  of  IREN^EUS  first  appeared 
on  the  pages  of  the  New  York  Observer.  The  writer  was 
then  a  pastor  in  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson.  In  the 
month  of  April,  1840,  he  became  one  of  its  editors,  and  has 
been  writing  in  it,  with  brief  intervals,  every  week  for  more 
than  forty  years.  He  has  established  such  relations  with  his 
readers  that  he  has  come  to  regard  them  as  personal  friends, 
and  he  has  received  abundant  assurance  that  this  feeling  is 
reciprocated. 

Requests,  many  and  earnest,  have  been  made  by  our  sub 
scribers  for  the  collection  of  these  letters  into  a  volume. 

"Travels  in  Europe  and  the  East,"  "Switzerland,"  "The 
Alhambra  and  the  Kremlin,"  "  Under  the  Trees  "  and  "  Walk 
ing  with  God,"  are  the  names  of  books  originally  published 
as  "  Irenaeus  Letters  "  in  this  paper.  But  this  volume  con 
tains  a  selection  of  more  familiar,  household  letters,  such  as 
have  been  specially  mentioned  by  our  readers  as  giving  them 
pleasure,  and  it  is  now  published  in  compliance  with  their 
repeated  requests  to  have  this  in  this  permanent  form. 


IT-; 


/ 


THE    NEW    YORK    OBSERVER: 
A    NATIONAL,     RELIGIOUS,     FAMILY     NEWSPAPER. 


NOT  SECTIONAL. 


NOT  SECTARIAN. 


//  has  two  distinct  sheets  in  one  : 
Readily  separated  so  as  to  form  two  journals.       One  filled  -with 

Religious  and  the  other  -with  Secular  Reading, 
All  the  news  of  all  Christian  Churches  of  all  denominations  and  from 
all  foreign  countries  is  furnished  by  correspondents  in  every  part 
of  our  own  country  and  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  So  wide  is 
the  range  of  religious  intelligence,  of  Literature,  Science,  Art, 
Commerce  and  Agriculture,  that  the  reading  of  this  paper  is  an 
education  to  the  whole  family  that  receives  it. 

Its  editors  and  sole  proprietors  are  the 

REV.  DRS.  S.  IREN^US  PRIME,  E.  D.  G.  PRIME, 

CHAS.  A.  STODDARD,  AND  WENDELL  PRIME. 

Besides  these  it  has  four  editors  of  special  departments  and  a  large 
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CONTENTS. 


PACK 

Adams,  Dr.,  Intercourse  with 389 

Agatha  and  her  Dish 300 

Among  the  Icebergs 131 

Amphitheatres  and  Theatres 230 

Anna  Dickinson  on  Theatres 340 

Apostle  in  Rome 295 

Arguing  with  a  Poker  and  a  Hammer 336 

Babes  in  the  Woods 113 

Bear  in  Boston 52 

Beggar,  An  Interesting 134 

Beggars'  Church  and  the  Beggars  of  Italy 288 

Bryant,  William  Cullen 160 

Calling  Bad  Names 25 

Castle  of  Unspunnen 190 

Cemetery  beneath  a  Cemetery 238 

Chester  Cathedral  Service 178 

Childhood  of  Christ 6 

Children  and  the  Church 79 

Choosing  a  Minister's  Wife 16 

Church  and  a  Picture 225 

Church  and  Cloisters  of  St.  Mark 263 

Convent  on  the  Sea 235 

Country  Pastor's  Sermon 46 

Cowper  and  Ray  Palmer 137 

Cox,  The  late  Dr.  S.  H 394 

Doremus,  Mrs 49 

Doughnation  Party 98 

Dream  of  the  Year 62 

Dresden  Pictures .  202 


CONTENTS. 


Eternal  City,  Why? 276 

Evil  Eye 105 

Fife  and  the  Violin 311 

Fine  Old  English  Gentleman 207 

Gamblers  at  Monaco 329 

Going  to  a  Glacier 193 

Going  to  Rome 272 

Great  Exaggerator 153 

Green  Vaults 197 

Habits,  especially  Bad  Habits 102 

Henry  and  Hildebrand 123 

His  Grandfather's  Barn 22 

Hold  up  your  Head 127 

It's  his  Way 55 

Jews'  Quarter  in  Rome 291 

Lance  of  St.  Maurice 215 

Lesson  from  a  Sick-room 150 

Long-winded  Speakers. ... 120 

Made  without  a  Maker 333 

Manners  in  Church. 116 

Man  who  had  to  wait  for  a  Seat  in  Church 326 

Meanest  Woman  in  New  York 381 

Milk  and  Water 370 

Ministers'  Pay  in  Old  Times ., 87 

Ministers'  Sons 359 

Minister  who  was  hung 362 

Miseries  of  being  reported  in  the  Newspapers 308 

Model  Minister 109 

Monastery  and  Convent 186 

Morning  Adventure  in  Rome 280 

Muhlenberg,  The  Good  Dr 385 

Murray,  Dr. :  Bishop  Hughes 90 

Music  Composer  Spoiled 9 

My  first  Sight  of  Niagara 314 

My  Vine:  my  poor  Vine! 374 

Name  above  Every  Name 141 

New  England  Homes  and  Graves 30 

O  Thou  of  Little  Faith 167 

Qur  Friends  in  Heaven 344 


CONTENTS.  7 

PACK 

Our  Windows  in  Florence 243 

Pastor  and  Friend 59 

Pleasant  Recollections 13 

Sabbath  among  the  Hills 69 

Sabbath  in  Cambridge,  England 181 

San  Miniato  and  Vallombrosa 249 

Santa  Croce  and  the  Inquisition  in  Florence 255 

Service  of  Song 73 

Shakers  of  Canterbury 82 

Spring's  Prediction,  Dr 66 

Story  and  the  Church  of  St.  Cecilia. 284 

Studies  in  Torture  Rooms 211 

Summer  Board  and  Summer  Boarders 40 

Sunday  Evening  Supper 304 

Taxing  a  Child's  Brain 36 

Ten  Days  on  the  Ship 173 

That  Dreadful  Boy i 

Through  the  Tyrol 220 

Torturing  the  Little  Ones 366 

Two  Hours  in  Court 94 

Two  Pictures:  Ideal,  but  Real 170 

Warriors  on  War 164 

Week  in  the  White  House 145 

When  it  Rains,  let  it  Rain 157 

When  not  to  Laugh 348 

White  and  Yellow  Meeting-Houses 377 

White  Mountain  Notch 321 

With  a  Pirate  in  his  Cell 351 

Woman's  View  of  Crime 355 


IREN^US   LETTERS. 


THAT  DREADFUL  BOY. 

HE  was  going  from  Boston  to  Old  Orchard  with  his 
mother.  I  was  sorry  to  be  in  the  same  car  with  them.  His 
mother  seemed  to  exist  only  to  be  worried  by  this  uneasy, 
distressing  boy.  He  had  only  one  fault — he  was  perfectly 
insufferable. 

If  I  say  he  was  "an  unlicked  cub"  I  shall  offend  your  ears. 
Lick  is  an  old  English  word  that  means  either  to  lap  or  to 
strike.  Shakespeare  uses  rinlicked  as  applied  to  the  cub  of  a 
bear ;  there  was  a  notion  that  the  whelp  was  at  first  a  form 
less  thing  that  had  to  be  "  licked  into  shape"  by  the  mother's 
tongue.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  the  vulgar  expression,  "an 
unlicked  cub,"  was  fittingly  applied  to  a  boy  whose  mother 
never  gave  him  the  culture  essential  to  make  him  present 
able,  or  even  tolerable,  in  the  society  of  well-behaved  people. 
The  two  meanings  of  the  word  are  not  very  diverse. 

This  boy  had  never  been  licked  into  shape.  He  needed 
licking.  I  use  the  word  in  its  two  senses.  And  the  use,  if 
not  elegant,  is  intelligible  and  expressive,  perhaps  graphic 
also.  The  mother  besought  him  to  be  still  for  a  moment,  but 
the  moment  of  stillness  never  came.  He  wanted  something 
to  eat,  got  it;  to  drink,  and  he  kept  a  steady  trot  through  the 
car ;  the  anxious  mother  prayed  him  not  to  go  to  the  plat 
form,  not  to  put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  not  to  climb 
over  the  seats ;  all  in  vain.  She  might  as  well  have  en 
treated  the  engine. 

In  travelling,  one  is  often  haunted  by  people  from  whom 
he  tries  to  fly.  He  meets  them  at  the  galleries  or  the  dinner- 


2  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

table.  The  dreadful  boy  and  his  mother  were  in  the  parlor 
of  the  seaside  hotel  where  I  had  engaged  my  lodgings.  In 
half  a  day  this  dreadful  boy  was  the  pest  and  nuisance  of  the 
piazza,  the  parlors  and  the  halls.  His  intellectual  mother, 
coddling  and  coaxing  him,  sought  to  win  him  into  the  ways 
of  decency  and  peace,  but  he  rejoiced  in  showing  he  was  not 
tied  to  his  mother.  The  more  she  reasoned  the  more  he 
rioted  in  his  liberty. 

"  I  would  drown  the  little  plague  if  I  could  catch  him  in 
the  water,"  said  a  crusty  savage  from  New  York  City  ;  "  the 
ill-mannered  cur  minds  nobody  and  fears  nobody." 

One  evening  we  were  seated  in  the  parlor,  in  little  groups, 
conversing.  Into  the  room  rushed  the  dreadful  boy  pursued 
by  another  whom  he  had  hit,  and  both  were  screaming  in 
play  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  As  he  was  passing  me  I 
seized  him  by  the  arm  with  a  grip  that  meant  business,  and 
said  :  "  Here,  my  boy,  we  have  stood  this  thing  long  enough  : 
it  has  come  to  an  end."  An  awful  silence  filled  the  room  ; 
his  mother,  frightened,  sat  pale,  and  not  far  away,  while  I 
held  the  culprit  and  pursued  the  lecture — "  If  you  do  not 
know  how  to  behave  in  company,  let  me  tell  you  the  parlor 
is  no  place  for  such  romps  as  we  have  suffered  from  you  ;  go 
out  of  doors  and  stay  out  for  such  games,  and  when  you 
come  in  here,  sit  down  and  be  quiet."  He  wriggled  to  get 
away,  but  I  led  him  to  the  door  and  left  him  on  the  outside. 

As  I  had  not  been  introduced  to  his  mother,  I  was  not  sup 
posed  to  know  whose  boy  it  was,  and  therefore  made  no 
apologies  for  this  summary  discipline  of  somebody  else's  child. 

The  next  day  I  was  sitting  on  the  beach  under  a  sun  um 
brella,  when  a  party  of  ladies  and  the  dreadful  boy  hove  in 
sight,  and  sought  seats  near  me.  I  offered  my  seat  to  the 
mother,  but  she  found  one  at  hand,  thanked  me,  and  said : 

"  I  am  under  great  obligation  to  you,  sir,  for  taking  my 
boy  in  hand  last  evening." 

"  It  is  rather  in  my  place,"  I  made  answer,  "  to  apologize 
for  laying  hands  on  the  child  of  another:  but  I  saw  he 
was  regardless  of  authority,  and  thought  to  give  him  a 
lesson." 


THAT  DREADFUL  BOY.  3 

"Thanks:  but  I  would  like  to  tell  you  of  him:  he  is  a 
dear  child,  an  only  child,  and  his  father,  often  and  long  away 
from  home  on  business,  has  left  his  education  and  care  to 
me  entirely.  I  have  the  impression  that  the  strongest  of  all 
influences  is  love,  and  that  none  is  so  strong  as  a  mother's 
love :  I  never  speak  to  him  but  in  tones  and  words  of  affec 
tion:  I  never  deny  him  any  indulgence  he  asks:  I  let  him 
have  his  own  way  and  never  punish  him,  lest  he  should 
be  offended  with  me.  I  wish  that  he  may  not  have  any 
thoughts  of  his  mother  but  those  of  kindness,  gentleness  and 
love.  Your  sudden  and  decided  measure  last  night  startled 
me,  but  its  effect  on  the  child  was  remarkable.  He  has  not 
yet  recovered,  and  this  morning  he  spoke  to  me  of  it,  as  if  a 
new  sensation  had  been  awakened.  Will  you  tell  me  frankly 
what  your  opinion  is  of  the  probable  result  of  the  system 
which  I  am  pursuing?" 

"  It  is  not  becoming  in  a  stranger,"  I  said,  "  to  speak  plainly 
in  regard  to  the  domestic  management  of  another,  and  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  me  from  expressing  an  opinion  which  it 
would  not  be  pleasant  for  you  to  hear." 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  it ;  the  good  of  my  child  is  the  dear 
est  object  in  this  world  :  I  have  nothing  else  to  live  for,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  more  I  love  him  the  less  he  cares  for 
me  or  my  wishes,  the  more  unruly  and  troublesome  he  be 
comes.  Your  decided  dealing  with  him  has  frightened  me 
in  regard  to  my  course  of  training." 

"  Rather  you  should  say  your  '  want  of  training  him.'  You 
do  not  read  correctly  the  words  of  the  wise  man, '  Train  up  a 
child,'  etc.  You  are  letting  him  grow  up  without  training, 
and  my  fear  is  that  he  will  be  hung — " 

"Hung!  hung!  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Only  this,  that  you  are  allowing  him  now  to  be  a  lawless, 
selfish,  domineering,  disagreeable  boy:  he  has  his  own  way 
always  :  he  tramples  on  your  wishes  now,  and  will  tread  on 
your  heart  soon  and  love  to  do  it :  such  boys  are  bad  at 
home  and  worse  out  of  doors :  growing  up  ungoverned,  he 
will  defy  authority,  be  hated  by  his  companions,  get  into 
trouble,  become  turbulent,  riotous,  perhaps  an  outlaw,  and 


4  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

will  come  to  some  bad  end,  I  fear  a  rope's  end.  This  plain 
talk  offends  you,  I  perceive." 

"  No,  it  does  not :  I  am  thinking,  but  I  am  not  offended.  I 
asked  your  candid  opinion  and  have  received  it,  and  it  has 
made  me  anxious  lest  I  have  already  done  an  irreparable 
injury  to  the  dear  child.  Do  you  believe  in  the  corporal 
punishment  of  children  ?"  » 

"  It  is  sometimes  a  duty.  You  may  restrain  the  wayward 
ness  of  some  children  without  actually  whipping  them,  and  if 
you  can,  by  all  means  do  so.  But  the  first  duty  of  a  child  is  to 
obey  its  parents.  Your  boy  never  obeyed  you  since  he  was 
born !" 

"  True,  very  true :  he  has  always  had  his  own  way." 

"  Yes,  and  is  therefore  never  happy :  he  would  cry  for  the 
moon,  and  fret  because  he  cannot  have  it.  He  is  no  comfort 
to  you,  and  is  a  torment  to  all  about  him.  If  you  would 
make  him  happy,  you  will  make  him  mind :  and  especially  to 
obey  his  mother.  I  do  not  believe  that  you  will  succeed." 

"  Pray,  why  not,  sir  ?" 

"  Because,  madam,  you  have  '  views '  that  are  opposed  to 
these.  You  believe  only  in  moral  suasion,  in  the  largest  lib 
erty,  and  you  cannot  break  away  from  your  opinions  and 
surroundings  and  persistently,  steadily  and  faithfully  pursue 
a  new  line  of  life  with  that  boy." 

"  But  I  will  try." 

"  God  help  you,  madam,  and  you  will  need  his  help,  for  you 
have  a  long  struggle  before  you.  But  the  prize  is  worth  it, 
and  I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart.  Your  child  will 
love  you  ten  times  more  if  you  teach  him  to  respect  you  :  he 
will  not  love  you  while  you  let  him  defy  and  despise  your 
authority  as  he  does  now.  Soon  he  will  love  you,  and  love 
to  obey  you,  and  then  he  is  saved.  Solomon  was  a  wise  man, 
and  spoke  divine  wisdom  when  he  said, '  He  that  spareth 
the  rod  hateth  his  son,  but  he  that  loveth  him  chasteneth 
him  betimes.' " 

The  madam  had  a  smile  of  contempt  on  her  face,  and  said, 
"  I  don't  think  much  of  Solomon." 

"  Probably  not,"  I  replied.     "  Did  you  ever  read  the  Apoc- 


THAT  DREADFUL  BOY.  5 

rypha  ?  Those  Oriental  writings  are  not  inspired,  so  you  need 
not  be  afraid  of  them" — she  laughed — "and  I  will  give  you 
the  sage  advice  of  the  Son  of  Sirach:  'Indulge  thy  child 
and  he  shall  make  thee  afraid :  humor  him  and  he  will  bring 
thee  to  heaviness.  Bow  down  his  neck  while  he  is  young, 
and  beat  him  on  the  sides  while  he  is  a  child,  lest  he  wax 
stubborn  and  be  disobedient  unto  thee,  and  so  bring  sorrow 
upon  thy  heart.'  Which  means  teach  him  to  obey,  or  he  will 
govern  you  and  break  your  heart." 

The  mother  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  with 
quivering  lips :  "  Did  you  ever  read  Patmore's  lines,  '  My 
Little  Son '  ?  No  ?  Well,  I  will  say  them,  for  they  are  on  my 
heart : 

'•  My  little  son,  who  looked  from  thoughtful  eyes, 
And  moved  and  spoke  in  quiet  grown-up  wise, 
Having  my  law  the  seventh  time  disobey'd, 
I  struck  him  and  dismiss'd 
With  hard  words  and  unkiss'd, 
His  mother,  who  was  patient,  being  dead. 
Then,  fearing  lest  his  grief  should  hinder  sleep, 
I  visited  his  bed, 
But  found  him  slumbering  deep, 
With  darkened  eyelids,  and  their  lashes  yet 
From  his  late  sobbing  wet. 
And  I,  with  moan, 

Kissing  away  his  tears,  left  others  of  my  own  ; 
For,  on  a  table  drawn  beside  his  head, 
He  had  put,  within  his  reach, 
A  box  of  counters  and  a  red-veined  stone, 
A  piece  of  glass  abraded  by  the  beach, 
And  six  or  seven  shells, 
A  bottle  with  bluebells, 

And  two  French  copper  coins  ranged  there  with  careful  art, 
To  comfort  his  sad  heart. 
So,  when  that  night  I  pray'd 
To  God,  I  wept  and  said  : 
Ah,  when  at  last  we  lie  with  tranced  breath, 
Not  vexing  thee  in  death, 
And  thou  rememberest  of  what  toys 
We  made  our  joys, 
How  weakly  understood 
Thy  great  commanded  good, 


6  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

Then,  fatherly  not  less 

Than  I  whom  thou  hast  moulded  from  the  clay, 
Thou'lt  leave  thy  wrath  and  say, 
'"I  will  be  sorry  for  their  childishness."  '  " 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  as  she  paused — her  eyes  filled  with 
tears — "  thank  you  :  no  child  should  be  '  struck  in  anger  and 
dismissed  with  hard  words.'     Punishment  in  love  and  justice 
breaks  no  child's  heart :  that  father  was  all  wrong." 
"  I  see  it,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  begin  to  feel  it  also." 
We  exchanged  cards,  and  I  hope  to  hear  of  the  dreadful 
boy  again. 


THE  CHILDHOOD  OF  CHRIST. 

When  I  was  in  Nazareth,  the  child-life  of  Jesus  excited 
emotions  of  a  character  not  difficult  to  recall,  but  very  hard 
to  relate. 

I  was  led  to  the  shop  where  tradition  says  that  Joseph 
wrought  at  his  trade  of  a  carpenter.  And  now  I  have  on 
the  wall  before  me  an  exquisite  engraving  of  the  man  at  his 
work,  while  a  lovely  boy  is  looking  on.  The  light  divine  is 
playing  on  the  child's  brow. 

Nazareth  is  in  a  valley,  and  the  hills  surround  it  like  the 
rim  of  a  basin.  On  this  ridge,  perhaps,  the  child  Christ  had 
often  walked,  and  from  it  looked  away  to  the  hills  now 
famous  and  sacred  in  the  story  of  his  life  and  death,  and 
in  the  history  that  was  the  prophecy  of  his  coming.  Carmel 
stretches  away  to  the  sea  on  the  right.  The  dome  of  Mount 
Tabor  salutes  the  vault  of  heaven  on  the  left.  Gilboa  and 
the  lesser  Hermon  remind  us  of  Saul  and  Jonathan,  and 
the  sweet  singer  of  Israel.  We  look  out  on  the  plain  of 
Esdraelon,  the  wide  battle-field  of  old,  and  the  field  of  mira 
cles  of  mercy  as  well.  In  the  distance  are  places  where  the 
Saviour,  in  the  days  of  his  ministry,  went  about  doing  good  ; 
and  the  region  finally  sanctified  by  his  death  and  ascension 
to  the  glory  that  was  his  before  the  world  was. 


THE  CHILDHOOD   OF  CHRIST.  7 

It  requires  no  superstition  to  invest  such  a  walk  with  holy 
interest.  The  spot  is  not  marked  by  great  events  to  which 
the  world  makes  pilgrimage.  It  is  not  certain  that  the  child 
Jesus  ever  stood  in  the  place  where  I  was  standing  when  I 
looked  down  upon  Nazareth,  and  off  toward  Mount  Moriah, 
and  the  City  of  the  Great  King !  But  the  mystery  of  the 
Incarnation  and  Youth  of  the  Son  of  God  was  invested  with 
fresh  beauty  and  power  as  I  wondered  what  were  the  emo 
tions  of  the  boy  in  those  days  of  his  childhood,  before  he 
took  on  his  shoulders  the  burden  which  he  came  to  bear. 
He  knew  all  that  was  before  him  ! 

When  he  was  an  infant  on  his  mother's  neck,  she  was 
conscious  of  the  mighty  secret  that  he  was  the  Son  of 
God,  and  she  alone  of  all  the  daughters  or  sons  of  men 
knew  that  truth  :  even  then,  in  the  tender  years  of  his  infancy, 
the  cross  and  the  nails  and  the  spear  were  in  his  heart,  as 
afterwards  on  Calvary.  She,  too,  had  been  told  that  the 
sword  would  pierce  through  her  own  soul,  and  thus  the 
sorrows  of  the  infant  Jesus  were  shared  in  the  sympathy  of 
his  mother. 

He  was  strong  in  spirit  when  yet  in  the  dew  of  his  youth. 
He  was  filled  with  wisdom.  And  the  grace  of  God  was 
upon  him.  Wonderful  must  have  been  the  boyhood  thus 
endowed.  What  the  thoughts  of  his  mother  were  in  those 
days  we  know  not,  but  she  kept  all  his  strange  sayings 
in  her  heart,  and  linked  them  with  the  awful  mystery  of  his 
advent  by  a  way  known  only  to  herself  and  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord. 

He  was  only  twelve  years  old  when  he  went  up  with  his 
parents  to  Jerusalem,  and  there  stood  before  the  teachers  in 
the  temple,  and  taught  them  so  that  they  were  astonished 
at  his  understanding,  and  his  answers  to  the  questions  which 
they  proposed  to  the  precocious  and  inquisitive  lad.  It  was 
more  marvellous  then  than  it  would  be  now  for  a  child  to 
take  such  a  place  before  a  college  of  professors.  The  rever 
ence  for  age  and  wisdom  and  authority  is  much  less  now 
than  in  those  days,  and  the  doctors  of  divinity  might  well 
have  been  surprised  at  the  courage  no  less  than  the  learning 


8  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

of  a  child  of  twelve,  who  could  sit  in  their  presence  and  hold 
his  own  in  extemporaneous  debate. 

"  Don't  you  know  that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  busi 
ness?"  were  the  strange  words  he  uttered  when  his  mother 
found  him,  after  three  days'  search.  It  is  very  plain  that 
Mary,  the  blessed  Mother  of  Jesus,  whom  millions  of  igno 
rant  people  now  worship  with  prayers  invoking  her  protec 
tion,  is  no  more  able  to  take  care  of  us  than  any  other 
mother  is,  for  she  could  not  keep  watch  of  her  own  child  on 
the  journey  from  Jerusalem  to  Nazareth,  and  it  took  her 
three  days  to  find  him.  I  am  sure  that  she  is  no  more  able 
to  help  and  save  than  my  mother  is,  and  it  is  just  as  well  to 
pray  to  one  as  the  other. 

And  with  what  filial  respect  and  confidence  the  child  Jesus 
met  his  mother's  call,  and  turned  away  from  the  congenial 
company  of  those  men  of  learning !  He  must  go  back  to 
Nazareth,  to  the  carpenter's  shop  and  the  daily  toil.  He 
might  be  a  Rabbi  among  Rabbis.  But  his  time  had  not 
yet  come.  He  went  home  and  was  obedient  unto  his  parents. 
He  was  a  good  boy.  That  is  saying  much  for  him.  And  it 
is  a  wonderful  fact  that  a  life  of  Christ,  written  on  one  sheet 
like  this,  has  space  for  the  record  that  he  obeyed  his  mother ! 
He  was  the  Saviour  of  Men,  the  Lord  of  Glory,  the  Man  of 
Sorrows,  the  Prince  of  Peace.  He  came  to  seek  and  save 
the  lost,  and  his  life  of  work  for  a  world  is  full  of  incident, 
activity  and  tragedy,  but  his  biographer  begins  by  telling  us 
that  he  was  a  child  who  was  subject  to  his  parents. 

I  find  in  that  simple  statement  a  great  truth  for  all  time, 
all  lands,  all  parents  and  all  children.  I  thought  of  it  as  I 
stood  on  the  hill  over  Nazareth,  and  looked  off  into  the 
western  sky  where  the  sun  was  going  down  to  shine  on  an 
other  dear  and  sacred  home.  And  when  with  my  friend 
now  in  heaven,  the  missionary  Calhoun,  I  went  to  bed  in 
the  Convent  that  night,  and  talked  with  him  of  those  we 
loved  across  the  sea,  my  mind  was  filled  with  thoughts  of  the 
childhood  of  Jesus  when  he  was  subject  to  his  parents. 

The  holy  child  Jesus !  At  this  season  of  the  year,  and 
on  this  day  of  all  the  days  in  the  year,  I  would  write  to  the 
parents  and  the  children  who  read  these  lines,  and  commend 


A   MUSIC-COMPOSER   SPOILED.  9 

to  them  the  life  of  the  Holy  Child  Jesus:  of  Jesus  when  he 
was  a  child.  Even  then  he  was  filled  with  wisdom  and 
grace,  and  he  grew  in  favor  with  God  and  man  as  he  in 
creased  in  stature,  but  the  crown  of  his  childhood  was  obe 
dience  to  his  parents. 

The  happiest  child  in  the  world  is  one  who  takes  delight 
in  doing  what  is  well  pleasing  to  God  and  its  parents. 

Out  of  that  vale  of  Nazareth  has  gone  a  child  whose  life 
and  death  have  been  the  light  and  joy  and  will  yet  be  the 
salvation  of  the  world.  To  be  like  that  Child  is  heaven  be 
gun.  To  be  like  him  here  is  to  be  with  him,  in  his  Father's 
house,  forever. 


A  MUSIC-COMPOSER  SPOILED. 

THE  FATE  OF  POOR  RICHARD  LEARNING  TO   SING. 

When  I  was  a  lad  of  a  dozen  years,  we  had  a  singing  school 
in  the  congregation  of  the  "Old  White  Meeting  House." 
No  such  schools  are  in  these  days,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
It  was  held  once  a  week,  in  the  big  ball-room  of  the  tavern, 
across  the  green,  opposite  the  church.  From  all  the  region, 
miles  around,  the  young  men  and  maidens  came  by  scores, 
and  were  trained  to  sing  the  tunes  that  were  used  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  The  school  was  a  great  winter  treat,  and  the 
intermission  in  the  middle  of  the  evening  was  particularly 
enjoyed  and  improved. 

Of  one  of  the  boys  who  attended  this  school  you  will  now 
be  told,  but  to  spare  his  feelings,  especially  his  modesty,  his 
name  will  be  carefully  concealed.  Sufficient  has  been  his 
mortification,  as  you  are  to  learn,  and  I  remember  the  remark 
of  ^Eneas  to  Dido,  when  she  asked  him  to  tell  the  story  of 
his  sufferings : 

"What  you,  O  Queen,  command  me  to  relate, 
Renews  the  sad  remembrance  of  my  fate." 

Therefore  I  shall  not  mention  his  real  name,  but  speak  of 
him  as  Richard. 


16  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

Richard  was  one  of  the  minister's  sons,  and  very  ambitious 
to  be  a  singer.  He  had  a  passion  for  music,  as  was  apparent 
from  the  vigor  with  which  he  beat  the  drum  and  blew  the 
horn  in  those  childish  plays  which  made  the  welkin  ring  and 
annoyed  the  neighbors.  When  a  teacher  from  Connecticut 
came  there,  and  got  up  a  singing  school,  Richard  entered  it 
with  the  fire  of  genius  kindling  in  his  eye,  and  his  ear  open  to 
the  expected  sounds.  The  primary  rules  of  the  science  and  art 
of  music  being  readily  mastered,  and  easy  tunes  rehearsed  till 
they  were  quite  familiar,  he  seized  the  pen  of  the  composer, 
and  with  rapid  strokes  produced  one  and  then  another  tune 
of  his  own,  with  judicious  and  discriminating  indications  on 
the  staff  with  Cleff  and  Slurs,  Hold,  Staccato,  Swell  (much  of 
that),  Piano  and  Forte  and  Mezzo,  even  now  and  then  Con 
Spirito,  Andante,  Ad  Libitum,  etc. 

These  tunes  the  teacher  examined,  played  them  on  the  bass 
viol,  and  sang  them  with  fitting  words.  They  passed  that 
dread  ordeal,  and  were  pronounced  remarkably  well  done  for 
a  child.  Alas,  that  this  same  teacher  should  prove  the  ruin 
of  this  incipient  Mozart  or  Handel !  The  winter  rapidly  slid 
along.  The  school  flourished  grandly.  A  choir  of  a  hun 
dred  was  ready  to  fill  the  gallery  and  shake  the  pillars  of  the 
church.  As  the  young  Richard  was  singing  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  and  doubtless  making  obvious  discord,  the  master, 
passing  near  him,  was  provoked,  and  stopping  in  the  midst  of 
the  tune,  and  in  sudden  silence,  said  impatiently  and  severely, 
"  You  have  too  many  corners  to  your  throat  to  learn  to  sing !" 

The  cruel  man  might  better  have  broken  his  viol  over  the 
boy's  head.  As  it  was,  he  broke  the  boy's  heart.  Down 
went  his  aspirations,  and  from  that  hour  to  this  he  has  never 
tried  to  learn  a  line  of  music,  and  has  long  since  ceased  to 
know  one  tune  from  another.  Then  and  there  a  sense  of 
discouragement  took  hold  on  him  and  never  let  him  up. 
Whatever  else  he  could  do  and  did,  he  made  no  further  prog 
ress  in  the  culture  of  his  voice  or  the  art  of  composing 
music !  Yet  he  never  ceased  to  love  it,  and  never  ceased  to 
regret  that  he  did  not  despise  the  rebuke,  and  give  the  lie  to 
the  prophet,  by  overmastering  the  difficulties,  rounding  the 


A   MUSIC-COMPOSER   SPOILED.  II 

corners  of  his  throat,  and  learning  to  sing.  Thirty  years 
after  this  blow  fell  on  him  he  tvas  relating  his  fate  to  Mr. 
Thomas  Hastings,  the  famous  teacher  and  composer  of  sacred 
music.  That  excellent  man,  of  blessed  memory,  said  to  him 
on  hearing  his  story  : 

"  Sing  with  me  the  eight  notes." 

He  did  so  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 

"  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world,"  said  this  master, 
"why  you  should  not  be  a  good  singer.  If  you  will  begin 
now,  you  will  succeed  beyond  all  doubt." 

But  the  man  would  not  undertake  what  the  boy  had 
abandoned  as  a  hopeless  task.  The  boy  was  father  of  the 
man. 

Mr.  Hastings  said  :  "  Every  one  may  learn  to  sing  :  not 
one  in  a  thousand  has  any  natural  deficiency  to  prevent  him 
from  being  a  fair  singer."  But  Richard  was  too  old  a  bird 
to  begin.  He  could  not  be  flattered  into  a  fresh  exposure  of 
those  fatal  corners. 

The  fate  of  this  ambitious  youth,  and  the  sad  loss  the 
world  has  suffered  by  the  early  clipping  of  his  musical  wings, 
may  be  utilized  in  a  note  of  warning  to  parents  and 
teachers. 

There  is  a  bent,  a  trend,  a  tendency  in  the  nature  of 
children,  which  should  be  taken  into  account  in  the  culture 
of  their  minds  and  the  choice  of  a  pursuit  in  life.  Some 
times  it  should  be  discouraged,  for  it  does  not  always  point 
to  usefulness,  honor  and  happiness.  Just  as  the  twig,  etc. 
And  in  early  years,  even  a  bad  tendency  may  be  repressed  or 
eradicated,  which,  left  unchecked,  will  become  a  resistless 
flood,  an  ungovernable  passion,  a  fatal  power.  But  this 
natural  force,  inclination  or  propensity,  when  rightly  guided, 
will  be  clear  gain  in  the  development  of  character,  making  a 
grand  success. 

It  is  better  in  the  training  of  the  young  to  rely  more  on 
cautious  encouragement,  than  rough  reproof  and  constant 
censure  or  fault-finding.  The  race  is  weary  enough,  and  the 
toil  up  hill  is  hard  enough,  to  justify  all  the  help  that  parent 
and  teacher  can  afford.  Repression  and  scolding  only 


12  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

irritate  the  soul,  without  adding  to  its  power.  Often  the 
brain  is  confused  by  a  harsh  word,  and  the  mind  is  diverted 
from  the  point,  when  a  smile  and  kindly  remark  would  be 
a  ray  of  sunlight  guiding  to  the  true  answer.  One  of  the 
marvels  of  human  nature  is  that  loving  parents  often  abuse 
their  children  under  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty. 

But  there  is  something  for  every  one  to  do  in  this  world, 
and  when  a  musician  is  spoiled,  it  is  not  certain  that  he  does 
not  turn  out  to  be  something  better.  "  There's  a  Divinity 
that  shapes  our  ends."  The  great  difference  in  the  men  We 
meet  is  energy  or  the  want  of  it.  Given  fair  natural  powers, 
the  average,  then  put  on  the  steam,  and  the  man  will  go. 
With  virtue  at  the  helm,  the  worker  will  win  usefulness  and 
bread,  and  with  them  the  chief  end  of  man. 

This  is  rather  a  dull  ending  of  poor  Richard's  musical 
career.  He  did  not  go  singing  his  way  through  the  world. 
He  never  learned  to  distinguish  one  tune  by  its  name.  But 
no  waters  could  quench  the  music  in  his  soul.  He  heard  it 
in  the  spheres  when  "  in  solemn  silence  all  move  round  this 
dark  terrestrial  ball."  He  listened  to  it  among  the  pine  trees 
through  which  the  meadow  brook  wound  its  way.  In  the 
sounding  ocean  and  the  shells  he  listened  to  the  mystery  and 
melody  of  the  sea.  Even  the  growth  of  the  plants,  as  he  put 
his  ear  to  the  sod,  made  music.  And  at  home  and  in  far 
cities  he  heard  the  great  masters  of  voice  and  instrument, 
Braham  and  Jenny  Lind,  the  two  greatest  human  voices  of 
the  century,  and  all  the  lyric  songsters  that  have  swept  the 
heart  and  harp  chords  of  the  age:  he  felt  the  passion  strains 
in  the  Sistine  chapel,  rose  in  rapture  on  the  organ  tones  at 
Frieburg,  and  wept  in  a  delirium  of  emotion  under  the 
choir  of  St.  Roch  .  he  thought  with  the  wisest  of  men  to  get 
him  "  men  singers  and  women  singers,"  and  perhaps  has 
found  as  exquisite  delight  in  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds  as 
any  untutored  mind  can  enjoy,  but  he  has  never  ceased  to 
regret  that  his  first  music  teacher,  that  peripatetic  pedagogue 
from  Connecticut,  said  to  him,  in  the  hearing  of  a  hundred, 
"  You  have  too  many  corners  to  your  throat  to  learn  to 
sing." 


PLEASANT  RECOLLECTIONS.  tj 

PLEASANT   RECOLLECTIONS 

OF   A   ROMAN   CATHOLIC   PASTOR  AND    FRIEND. 

This,  as  I  learn  by  the  daily  papers,  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  Rev.  Dr.  Cummings,  the  pastor  of  St.  Stephen's 
Roman  Catholic  Church  in  28th  Street  in  this  city.  His 
church  was,  and  is,  distinguished  for  its  music,  which  draws 
throngs  to  its  courts.  The  style  of  the  music  is  more  artistic 
than  we  have  in  our  most  fashionable  Protestant  churches, 
but  it  is  attractive  in  the  highest  degree.  He  died  thirteen 
years  ago  to-day,  and,  as  on  the  return  of  each  anniversary, 
a  solemn  high  mass  of  requiem  was  celebrated  in  the  church 
of  his  affection.  He  was  a  remarkable  man,  a  companion 
able,  cultivated  scholar  and  gentleman. 

My  recollections  of  him  are  refreshing,  and  they  come  to 
me  this  evening  so  cheerily  that  I  must  ask  you  to  share 
them  with  me. 

I  was  indebted  to  a  "  mutual  friend,"  Mr.  W.  A.  Seaver, 
formerly  an  editor,  and  now  the  worthy  President  of  the 
Adriatic  Fire  Insurance  Company,  for  my  first  acquaintance 
with  Dr.  Cummings.  We  were  Mr.  Seaver's  guests  at  din 
ner.  A  few  moments  after  first  speaking  with  him,  for  the 
grasp  of  his  warm  hand  assured  me  he  was  ready  for  a  cheer 
ful  word,  I  said  to  him  : 

"  Dr.  Cummings,  I  take  this,  the  first  opportunity  of  meet 
ing  you,  to  beg  your  pardon  for  breaking  open  a  letter  of 
yours  at  my  office." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  how  was  that,  I  have  forgotten  it?" 

"  Yes,  a  letter  came  to  us  with  your  name  on  it,  and  as 
one  of  our  editors  bore  the  same  name  as  yours,  he  supposed 
it  was  for  him  and  broke  the  seal.  But  finding  it  was  writ 
ten  in  Latin  and  came  from  Rome,  we  concluded  it  must  be 
for  some  one  else,  and  we  returned  it  to  the  post  office." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  remember  now,  it  was  an  Indul 
gence  we  had  sent  for  from  the  Pope,  but  probably  you 


14  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

needed  it  at  your  office  more  than  we  did,  and  so  it  went  to 
you !" 

We  were  soon  at  the  table,  and  it  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
early  days  of  Lent.  Our  host  made  an  apology,  and  said  to 
Dr.  Cummings :  "  Perhaps,  as  it  is  Lent,  you  abstain  from 
meat?" 

"  Oh,  no,  it's  meet,  meet,  meetzVz^  all  the  time,"  he  said ; 
"  and  without  meat  we  should  be  unequal  to  the  duties  of  the 
season." 


In  conversing  with  me  on  the  subject  of  newspaper-mak 
ing,  and  especially  the  conflicts  of  the  religious  press,  he  re 
ferred  humorously  to  his  own  experience  when  he  was  a 
young  man,  and  in  the  family  of  Bishop  Hughes.  He  said : 

"The  Bishop  was  at  that  time  running  a  newspaper  him 
self,  and  I  was  his  assistant ;  he  would  sometimes  come  in 
when  hard  up  for  copy,  and  throwing  down  the  New  York 
Observer  before  me,  would  say,  '  there,  take  that,  and  pitch 
in.' " 

To  which,  I — "  And  you  always  did  as  you  were  told,  I  be 
lieve." 


Speaking  of  the  power  of  music  in  church,  he  said  to  me : 
"  I  will  undertake  to  fill  any  one  of  your  churches  to  over 
flowing  every  Sunday  if  you  will  let  me  provide  the  music." 

"Your  music,"  I  replied,  "will  not  suit  the  taste  of  our 
people,  who  do  not  fancy  the  style  of  St.  Stephen's." 

"  But  it  shall  be  purely  Protestant  and  Presbyterian  :  such 
music  as  you  delight  in ;  adapted  to  your  forms  of  worship 
and  the  wants  of  your  people.  Our  music  would  drive  away 
your  congregations ;  but  music  delights,  and  will  always 
draw  the  crowd.  I  am  very  sure  that  your  churches  do  not 
appreciate  its  value  as  a  means  of  bringing  the  multitude  to 
the  house  of  God." 

"  We  spend  money  enough  on  it,"  I  said ;  "  often  as  much 
on  the  choir  as  on  the  pulpit." 

"  Very  true,  but  you  pay  for  that  kind  of  music  that  does 
not  accord  with  your  service — it  does  not  address  itself  to 


PLEASANT  RECOLLECTIONS.  15 

the  sentiment,  the  sensibility,  the  emotional  nature ;  it  is 
often  an  approach  to  the  opera  without  reaching  it — so  that 
it  is  neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other.  Ours  is  artistic,  in 
harmony  with  our  ritual,  addressing  the  imagination  through 
the  senses ;  you  appeal  to  the  intellect  and  the  heart,  and 
need  a  music  to  match  your  services." 

These  are  a  few  only  of  the  words  we  exchanged,  but  we 
met  not  long  afterwards  at  his  own  table,  in  his  own  house. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  gentlemen  sat  down ;  all  but  four  were 
priests  or  eminent  laymen  of  the  Romish  Church.  Dr.  Cum- 
mings,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  had  two  of  us  Protestants 
on  one  hand,  and  two  on  the  other.  The  Austrian  Consul 
presided  at  the  other  end  of  the  long  table.  After  we  were 
seated,  our  host,  looking  along  the  rows  of  guests,  remarked 
with  great  glee, 

"  Now  we  have  these  Protestants,  we'll  roast  them." 

I  returned  his  smiles  and  said,  "  I  thought  we  all  belonged 
to  the  same  sect." 

"  And  which  ?"  exclaimed  some  one. 

"The  Society  of  Friends,"  said  I,  and  they  gave  me  a 
cheer  along  the  line,  and  did  not  try  to  roast  a  Protestant. 

It  was  a  memorable  dinner.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
several  men  of  learning,  travel  and  genius,  whose  friendship 
I  prized.  Among  the  books  lying  around  was  a  volume  of 
epitaphs  composed  by  Dr.  Cummings.  He  told  me  that  his 
people  constantly  came  to  him  for  lines  to  put  on  the  grave 
stones  of  their  children  and  friends,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
make  a  book  of  them,  so  that  they  could  take  what  pleased 
them.  He  gave  me  a  copy,  and  I  made  a  commendatory 
notice  of  it  in  the  New  York  Observer.  He  remarked  after 
wards,  to  a  friend  of  mine,  that  he  did  not  suppose  it  possi 
ble  for  a  Protestant  to  speak  so  kindly  of  a  Catholic  produc 
tion.  As  the  epitaphs  were  the  expression  of  human  sym 
pathy  and  love,  the  most  of  them  were  such  as  come  from 
and  to  every  aching  heart. 

And  by  and  by  it  came  his  time  to  die.  He  was  in  the 
prime  and  vigor  of  life  when  disease  overtook  him,  and 
with  slow  approaches  wore  his  life  away.  His  constitu- 


1 6  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

tional  cheerfulness  never  failed  him.  I  think  an  invitation 
he  gave  to  our  friend,  Mr.  Seaver,  has  no  example  in  the 
speech  of  dying  men  of  ancient  or  modern  times.  Socrates 
conversed  with  his  friends  serenely.  Philosophy  and  religion 
have  both  made  death-beds  cheerful.  I  have  spoken  of  Dr. 
Cummings'  love  of  music  and  its  exquisite  culture  at  St. 
Stephen's.  It  was  his  pride  and  joy;  and  one  who  has  no 
music  in  his  soul  cannot  understand  his  dying  words.  Mr. 
Seaver  was  in  the  habit  of  seeing  him  almost  daily,  and  each 
visit  was  now  apparently  to  be  the  last.  One  day,  as  the 
end  was  very  near  and  the  two  friends  were  parting,  the 
dying  said  to  the  living,  "Come  to  the  funeral,  the  music 
will  be  splendid." 

And  so  it  was ;  and  on  each  return  of  his  death-day,  January 
the  4th,  the  arches  of  St.  Stephen's  become  anthems,  and  its 
walls  are  vocal  with  song,  in  memory  of  the  departed  pastor, 
an  accomplished  gentleman  and  genial  friend. 


CHOOSING  A  MINISTER'S  WIFE. 

A  great  innovation  is  proposed,  and  the  beginning  of  a 
new  Reformation  dawns  on  the  world  ! 

Whether  the  people  should  choose  their  own  pastors,  or 
not,  has  been  a  vexed  question  in  the  Church  through  the 
ages.  In  the  Papal  Church  the  parish  takes  the  pastor  sent. 
In  the  Church  of  England  the  pastorate  is  a  property  which 
the  owner  bestows  on  the  minister  he  is  pleased  to  name. 
Patrons  have  only  very  lately  ceased  to  appoint  pastors  in 
Scotland.  The  Methodist  Bishop  in  this  country  saith  to 
one  minister  go,  and  he  goeth,  and  the  people  accept  the 
gift. 

When  the  Pope  set  up  to  be  infallible,  a  number  of  priests 
and  people  in  Europe  were  unable  to  swallow  the  absurdity, 
and  went  off  by  themselves.  They  like  to  be  called  OLD 
Catholics,  because  they  hold  to  the  faith  as  it  was  before 


CHOOSING  A   MINISTER'S    WIFE.  17 

the  modern  heresy  broke  out.  They  have  gradually  intro 
duced  changes  into  their  church  order,  and  in  the  direction 
of  greater  liberality  and  conformity  to  the  teaching  of  Holy 
Scripture. 

"  Forbidding  to  marry"  is  one  of  the  marks  of  an  apostate 
Church.  Only  a  Church  that  had  set  itself  up  against  the 
express  will  of  God  would  command  its  ministers  to  trample 
on  the  holy  ordinance  of  marriage,  and  make  a  virtue  of 
celibacy.  This  the  Church  of  Rome  has  done,  and  by  this 
wicked  law  it  has  made  itself,  as  the  Rev.  J.  B.  Brown  of 
London  says,  "  worse  than  the  world  it  ought  to  save." 

The  reformers  who  are  now  seeking  to  build  up  a  new 
reformation  in  the  heart  of  Europe  have  made  an  onset  upon 
this  rule  of  clerical  celibacy.  They  have  had  a  Synod  in 
which  the  subject  was  discussed  long  and  learnedly,  and  so 
strong  is  prejudice,  and  so  bound  are  they  to  the  traditions 
of  their  Church,  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  they  could 
be  brought  to  release  themselves  from  the  cruel  yoke.  And 
when  at  last  it  was  carried  that  priests  might  marry,  it  was 
coupled  with  a  strange  provision  that  we,  enjoying  the  liberty 
of  those  whom  Christ  makes  free,  are  not  able  easily  to  un 
derstand.  They  resolved  in  Synod  to  permit  priests  to  marry, 
but  it  was  required  that  "  the  wife  shall  be  acceptable  to  the  con 
gregation  and  to  the  Bishop,  and  shall  be  approved  by  them." 

It  would  be  a  curious  canvass  in  a  country  congregation, 
or  a  city  one  either,  when  the  sense  of  the  people  was  taken 
on  the  acceptability  of  the  lady  whom  the  pastor  proposes  to 
make  his  wife.  If  she  were  a  member  of  the  flock  there 
never  would  be  agreement.  If  she  were  not  a  member  how 
would  they  ascertain  her  qualities?  A  preacher  can  come  on 
trial,  or  a  committee  can  go  and  hear  him,  see  him,  weigh 
and  measure  him,  and  report  the  result  to  the  congregation. 
But  now  just  suppose  a  committee  of  ladies  is  sent  from 
New  Jersey  to  ascertain  the  merits  of  the  lady  in  Vermont 
whom  their  pastor  wishes  to  marry.  They  can  talk  with  her, 
and  ask  the  neighbors  what  manner  of  woman  she  is,  and  in 
spect  her  school  diploma  and  read  some  of  her  old  compo 
sitions,  and  get  her  photograph,  but  after  all  it  is  precious 


1 8  I  REN  &  US  LETTERS. 

little  they  will  be  able  to  report  as  to  her  ability  to  "  keep 
house"  for  the  minister,  or  to  get  up  a  church  fair,  or  to  eke 
out  a  poor  salary,  that  is  rather  diminished  than  increased  as 
the  number  of  backs  to  be  clothed  and  mouths  to  be  fed  is 
quadrupled. 

And  then  the  question  comes  up  if  the  people  or  the 
bishop  ought  to  meddle  in  the  matter.  What  business  of 
theirs  is  it?  If  the  pastor  and  his  wife  are  mutually  satis 
fied,  is  it  the  right  or  duty  of  anybody  else  to  interfere  ? 

But  it  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  our  church  life,  espe 
cially  in  the  rural  village  or  district,  that  the  young  wife  of  the 
pastor  is  claimed  as  a  part  of  the  church  property,  to  be  talked 
about,  criticised,  instructed,  sat  upon,  dissected  and  pulled 
to  pieces,  at  the  sweet  will  of  the  congregation.  When  the 
pastor  has  brought  to  his  people  a  wife  whom  God  has  en 
dowed  with  gifts  to  be  a  wise  and  useful  leader  in  the  work  of 
the  church,  it  will  be  her  joy  to  use  her  gifts,  and  to  be  much 
in  the  service.  But  she  may  be  better  fitted  for  a  "  keeper  at 
home  ;"  to  make  the  house  the  abode  of  order  and  peace  and 
health,  and  the  solace,  inspirer  and  helpmeet  for  her  husband. 
Thus  she  may  be  a  greater  blessing  to  the  people  than  one 
who  is  always  "  on  the  go."  Some  wives  combine  the  two 
in  one,  and  some  are  neither.  The  Lord  did  not  ordain 
wives  for  his  disciples.  We  are  told  that  a  bishop  must  have 
one  wife,  not  that  he  must  have  none,  nor  two.  And  we  are 
not  instructed  as  to  the  qualities  of  a  minister's  wife,  as  we 
are  in  regard  to  his  own  qualifications. 

Happy  is  that  people  whose  pastor  is  blessed  with  a  pru 
dent  wife,  because  he  is  blessed  in  her.  But  she  is  not  the 
people's  wife.  She  is  not  called  by  them.  They  were  not  al 
lowed  a  voice  in  her  selection.  She  has  no  salary.  But  she 
delights  in  the  ministry  of  the  saints.  She  is  a  pattern  in 
her  own  house,  and  accord  ing  to  the  measure  of  her  strength 
she  goes  about  doing  good. 

But  it  is  a  grand  mistake  to  suppose  that  she  is  not  the 
very  best  wife  a  pastor  can  have  who  makes  his  house  what 
it  should  be.  Did  you  ever  think  of  the  worry,  the  wear  and 
tear,  of  that  minister  who  has  to  look  alter  his  house  and 


CHOOSING   A    MINISTER'S    WlfiE.  19 

parish  too  ?  And  of  the  peace  and  power  oi  that  preacher 
who  can  give  himself  wholly  to  the  work  of  the  ministry  be 
cause  his  wife  takes  joyfully  the  burden  of  domestic  life  upon 
her  tender  hands  ? 

A  lawyer,  now  worth  a  large  property,  lost  his  wife  a  few 
days  ago.  Before  she  was  buried  1  called  in  sympathy  with 
him,  and  he  began  at  once  to  tell  me  how  he  began  his  prac 
tice  with  no  money  and  no  friend  but  the  poor  girl  who 
loved  him,  and  had  for  thirty  years  managed  all  his  domestic 
affairs  without  his  giving  them  a  thought.  Business,  wealth, 
friends,  children  were  added,  and  his  wife  had  been  the  stew 
ard  while  he  had  attended  to  the  work  in  the  world.  Far 
more  than  a  lawyer  does  a  pastor  need  a  wife  like  that. 

I  do  not  believe  the  congregation,  nor  a  bishop,  nor  a  town 
meeting,  could  pick  out  a  wife  for  anybody.  And  when  we 
remember  that  the  first  and  highest  of  all  thingsjx>  be 
thought  of  in  the  marriage  relation  is  mutual  affection,  and 
without  it  religion,  sense  and  beauty  are  not  enough,  it  is 
ridiculous  to  talk  about  the  congregation  having  a  voice  in 
the  choice  of  a  wife  for  the  pastor. 

It  does  not  speak  very  well  for  the  Old  Catholics  that  they 
are  spending  their  time  in  such  matters  as  this,  when  the 
weightier  matters  of  the  gospel  are  at  stake.  But  they  are 
improving.  It  was  something  to  agree  to  get  married.  Other 
improvements  will  follow.  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day,  and 
Rome  will  not  be  destroyed  in  a  day. 

To  a  minister's  wife  I  wrote,  to  comfort  her,  these  words : 

TO  A  MINISTER'S  WIFE. 

1  have  read  your  letter  with  serious  attention.  You  ex 
press  a  wish  that  Paul  had  written  an  epistle  to  Mrs.  Tim 
othy,  and  as  he  did  not,  you  ask  me  to  supply  his  lack  of 
service.  Thank  you,  but  I  must  be  excused.  I  couldn't 
think  of  supplementing  that  distinguished  letter  writer. 
But  the  fact  that  he  did  not  write  to  her,  nor  to  the  wives  of 
ministers  as  a  class,  is  very  significant. 

You  say  that  you  are  expected  and  required  to  be  the 


20  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

bearer  of  a  large  part  of  the  burdens  of  the  female  work  in 
the  church  :  to  superintend  ilie  societies,  to  lead  the  ladies' 
meetings,  to  visit  the  sick,  to  receive  constant  applications 
for  directions  to  the  women  of  the  flock,  and  in  general  to 
see  to  it  that  the  "female  department"  of  your  husband's 
pastoral  charge  is  kept  in  vigorous  repair  and  running  order. 

I  was  quite  amused  (pardon  me  for  being  amused  by  any 
thing  that  gave  you  distress)  by  your  account  of  the  call 
which  Mrs.  Alltalk  made  upon  you,  and  with  her  remark  that 
your  first  duty  is  to  the  church,  and  your  spare  time  may  be 
devoted  to  your  children  and  the  house.  You  ask  me  if  you 
were  right  in  saying  that  you  "  married  your  husband  and 
not  the  church,"  and  that  "  your  children,  not  your  neigh 
bors,  were  the  gift  of  God  to  you." 

Yes,  madam,  you  were  right :  just  right.  And  if  you  re 
plied  to  her  with  even  more  spirit  than  your  meek  words 
imply,  I  think  you  served  her  right.  And  what  you  failed 
to  say,  I  will  say  for  you,  thus : 

The  temptation  and  strong  desire  of  every  pastor's  wife 
prompt  her  to  do  all  she  can  to  help  him  in  his  work,  to 
serve  the  church  and  please  the  people.  She  is,  usually,  a 
woman  of  education,  sense,  and  force,  and  by  her  position  is 
readily  put  at  the  head  of  things  without  giving  offence  to 
any  one;  whereas,  if  Mrs.  Alltalk  or  Mrs.  Fidget  is  made  the 
leader,  half  the  women  in  the  parish  are  put  out  because 
they  were  not  put  in.  As  the  pastor  is  the  best  taught  man, 
so  his  wife  is  apt  to  be  the  best  qualified  woman  to  teach, 
lead,  guide  and  quicken.  So,  trusts  are  easily  laid  upon  her, 
and  her  temptation  is  to  accept  them  to  the  extent  of  her 
strength ;  yes,  and  beyond  her  strength.  But  her  relations 
to  the  pastor  and  to  the  church,  and  to  Christ  its  head,  are 
not  such  as  to  require  any  service  from  her  that  is  incompat 
ible  with  fidelity  to  the  nearer  and  more  sacred  trust  of  hus 
band  and  household.  HOME  is  the  church  to  which  she  was 
called,  in  which  she  was  ordained  and  installed,  to  which  she 
is  to  minister  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul,  and  for  which 
she  will  be  called  to  as  strict  an  account  as  her  husband  will 
be  for  the  service  he  has  rendered  in  the  pulpit.  When  the 


CHOOSING  A    MINISTER'S    WIFE.  21 

younger  class  of  married  women  are  taught  in  the  Bible, 
they  are  told  '  to  be  sober,  to  love  their  husbands,  to  love 
their  children,  to  be  discreet,  chaste,  keepers  at  home,  good 
obedient  to  their  own  husbands,  that  the  word  of  God  be 
not  blasphemed.'  This  counsel  and  these  commands  are 
quite  as  pointedly  addressed  to  the  wives  of  ministers,  as  to 
the  wives  of  merchants,  farmers  or  mechanics.  And  if  you 
ask  "  How  am  I  to  do  all  this,  and  what  women  of  the 
church  want  me  to  do,"  I  answer  that  "  duties  never  come 
into  conflict  with  each  other."  If  you  cannot  be  a  keeper  at 
home  and  a  visitor  of  the  sick  in  the  parish,  then  your  duty 
is  to  stay  at  home  ;  and  to  do  only  so  much  visiting  as  your 
domestic  affairs,  care  of  children  and  the  house,  will  permit. 
Do  not  send  Mrs.  Alltalk  or  Mrs.  Fidget,  in  your  place,  to 
see  the  sick.  They  will  do  more  harm  than  good.  But  the 
pastor  and  the  deacons,  and  the  neighbors,  will  see  that  the 
sick  are  cared  for,  while  you  mind  the  little  ones  who  are 
dependent  upon  you  for  daily  care.  And  as  to  the  sewing 
circles,  and  benevolent  societies,  and  Sunday-schools,  and 
all  that  kind  of  good  works,  which  every  working  church 
abounds  in,  you  should  not  feel  any  responsibility  which  is 
not  shared  equally  by  all  the  ladies  of  the  congregation. 
You  will  feel  more.  Nothing  that  I  can  say  will  convince 
you  that  you  are  in  no  sense  called  or  set  apart  as  a  pas- 
toress.  But  you  are  not.  You  are  the  pastor's  wife,  not  the 
female  pastor.  You  took  no  vows  upon  you  to  serve  the 
church ;  you  promised  to  be  faithful  to  your  husband.  The 
Bible  does  not  bid  you  teach,  or  to  go  visiting,  or  to  manage 
the  sewing  societies  ;  but  it  does  bid  you  to  see  to  your  own 
house,  and  to  be  a  helpmeet  for  him  who  is  the  servant  of 
the  church. 

Comfort  yourself  then,  madam,  with  these  words.  In  the 
circle  of  which  you  are  the  centre,  the  light  and  the  soul, 
you  will  work  out  the  mission  unto  which  you  were  sent,  by 
Him  who  said  to  the  disciples,  "Go  into  all  the  world." 
Your  ministry  is  to  one  of  those  disciples  and  the  little  dis 
ciples  that  are  around  your  feet.  I  am  glad  to  know  that 
you  value  the  honor  God  shows  you  in  putting  you  into 


2  2  IRENSE  £75 "  LE  TTERS. 

such  a  ministry.  It  is  the  sweet  gospel  of  love,  of  conjugal 
and  maternal  love,  recognized  of  the  Saviour  when,  on  the 
cross,  he  turned  his  dying  eye  upon  his  own  mother  and 
said,  "  Behold  thy  son."  John  was  to  go  with  the  gospel  to 
the  churches :  to  Patmos  in  exile :  to  the  death  of  martyr 
dom  :  but  the  woman  was  to  go  to  his  house. 

God  has  made  everything  beautiful  in  its  time  and  place. 
His  order  is  perfect.  And  when  it  is  allowed  to  work  itself 
out,  the  result  is  perfect :  perfect  peace,  harmony,  effi 
ciency  and  love.  Therefore,  be  of  good  cheer.  Be  faithful 
in  a  few  things,  and  the  many  things  will  be  cared  for  of 
Him  who  careth  for  us.  And  when  Mrs.  Alltalk  calls  again 
to  sting  you  with  her  impertinence,  and  to  make  you  feel 
miserable  because  you  cannot  be  in  three  places  at  one  time, 
ask  her  to  read  this  letter  while  you  are  getting  the  chil 
dren's  supper  ready. 


HIS  GRANDFATHER'S   BARN. 

You  may  have  heard, of  the  "  Old  White  Meeting  House." 
It  was  in  Cambridge,  Washington  county,  N.  Y.  Every 
body  in  that  region  of  country  knew  it,  and  the  "  Corners" 
on  which  it  stood  were  famous  as  the  scene  of  town  meet 
ings,  general  trainings,  and  travelling  shows.  Some  fifty 
years  ago  the  Rev.  William  Lusk  was  settled  as  pastor  of 
that  church.  He  was  about  28  years  old.  His  face,  that  in 
dicated  intellect  and  force,  was  marvellous  for  its  classic 
beauty,  and,  while  he  was  preaching,  it  lighted  up  with  a 
smile  and  radiance  that,  to  my  youthful  fancy,  was  the  face 
of  an  angel.  I  am  quite  sure  that  no  preacher  ever  ap 
peared  to  me  more  seraphic  than  William  Lusk  when,  on  the 
wings  of  holy  passion  and  thought,  he  soared  among  the 
lofty  truths  of  the  gospel:  His  sermons  were  written  out 
with  great  care  and  rhetorical  beauty.  They  were  delivered 
with  energy  and  without  mannerism,  but  with  a  naturalness 
that  was  unusual  in  the  pulpit  of  that  day.  The  people  were 


HIS  GRANDFATHERS   BARN.  23 

delighted  with  him.  A  great  revival  of  religion  was  enjoyed. 
More  than  one  hundred  persons  were  received  into  the 
church  on  one  communion  Sabbath.  In  a  rural  congrega 
tion,  or  any  other,  such  a  large  accession  was  remarkable. 
He  had  come  to  Cambridge  from  a  place  in  Massachusetts, 
where,  he  said,  there  was  no  need  of  his  staying,  for  all  the 
people  were  converted.  It  looked  as  though  all  the  people 
in  Cambridge  would  be  converted  also. 

But  the  Old  White  Meeting  House  was  -very  old.  How  old 
I  cannot  say.  Few,  if  any,  then  living  saw  its  timbers  laid. 
It  was  very  shaky  now.  Inside  it  had  never  been  painted. 
The  pews  were  square,  so  that  half  the  people  sat  with  their 
backs  to  the  preacher.  The  windows  were  loose  and  rattled, 
and  the  bleak  winds  of  winter  rushed  in  at  many  a  chink,  and 
the  one  stove  in  the  centre  aisle  roasted  those  near  it,  but 
served  only  to  rarify  the  air  a  little,  so  that  the  outside  winds 
drove  in  the  more  furiously.  The  winters  were  very  severe 
in  that  part  of  the  country.  We  often  had  the  mercury 
twenty  below  zero,  and  even  thirty  was  not  unknown. 

This  antiquated  and  dilapidated  house  was  a  sore  trial  to 
the  young  and  eloquent  pastor.  Much  did  he  meditate  upon 
the  ways  and  means  to  get  a  better.  Perhaps  he  took  coun 
sel  of  Sidney  Wells,  George  W.  Jermain,  Deacon  Crocker,  or 
others.  More  likely  he  did  not,  for  he  was  apt  to  take  his 
own  way,  and  keep  it.  But  the  fire  burned  within  him,  and 
all  the  more  fiercely  as  the  winter  became  more  severe.  At 
last  it  broke  out. 

It  was  a  terribly  cold  day.  The  farmers  had  come  to 
church  in  their  sleighs,  which  were  housed  under  the  long 
shed  in  the  rear  of  the  church ;  horses  were  carefully  done 
up  in  blankets;  the  women  had  their  foot-stoves  filled  with 
hot  coals,  over  which  they  toasted  their  toes :  the  men  were 
wrapped  in  their  overcoats,  and  were  cold.  The  pastor 
stood  in  the  pulpit  and  shivered.  He  looked  down  upon  the 
people  and  then  around  upon  the  walls  of  the  house  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  them  before,  and  after  a  silence  that  led 
the  congregation  to  wonder  what  was  coming,  he  remarked : 

"My  grandfather  has  a  barn" — the  people  were  startled  in 


24  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

their  seats  at  the  announcement  of  a  fact  so  very  probable 
indeed,  but  apparently  very  slightly  connected  with  the  ser 
vice  now  in  progress  :  he  paused  for  them  to  recover,  and 
began  again  : 

"  My  grandfather  has  a  barn  that  is  altogether  better  for  a 
place  to  worship  God  in  than  this  house."  Amazement  sat 
on  the  faces  of  the  people.  Half  a  century  many  of  them 
had  worshipped  the  God  of  their  fathers  in  that  venerated 
house.  There  they  had  consecrated  their  children  to  His 
service:  there  they  had  been  taught  the  way  of  life  and  found 
it,  so  that  of  many  it  might  be  said,  "this  man  was  born 
there."  To  be  told  now,  and  in  that  pulpit,  that  any  man  had 
a  barn  that  was  better  than  that  church  was  nearly  enough 
to  drive  them  mad.  Mr.  Lusk  paused  a  moment  to  see  the 
effect  of  the  first  shot,  and  then,  with  some  calmness,  he 
went  on  to  give  the  obvious  reasons  why  the  congregation 
should  build  a  new  house  of  worship.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  making  out  a  clear  case,  and  his  words  fell  like  fire  on  the 
heart.  It  was  plain,  before  he  was  done,  that  the  knell  of 
the  Old  White  Meeting  House  was  tolling.  After  service 
the  people  talked  the  matter  over,  and  it  was  admitted  on  all 
hands  that  the  matter  must  be  thought  of,  if  nothing 
more. 

The  next  Sabbath  Mr.  Lusk  took  up  the  subject  in  a  set 
sermon  on  the  duty  of  having  a  fit  place  for  public  worship. 
In  the  course  of  few  days  the  congregation  were  wide  awake, 
some  for,  and  some  against  the  proposal.  But  the  for  was 
the  larger  party.  It  became  very  evident  that  the  opposition 
came  from  those  whose  old  associations  with  the  house  made 
it  very  painful  to  tear  it  down,  and  make  all  things  new. 
This  was  a  holy  sentiment,  but  it  ought  not  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  a  movement  manifestly  made  necessary  by  the  decay 
of  the  old  house,  and  the  demand  for  a  new  and  better  one. 
If  the  zeal  of  the  building  party  abated,  it  was  easily  stimu 
lated  by  an  allusion  to  a  barn  belonging  to  an  ancestor  of 
the  pastor.  The  work  was  begun  before  the  spring  was 
fairly  open.  Money  was  subscribed.  Materials  were  given. 
Bees  were  held  for  drawing  stone  and  timber.  And  so  it 


CALLING  BAD  NAMES.  2$ 

came  to  pass  that,  by  one  and  another  means,  and  without 
going  to  New  York  or  even  to  Albany  for  help,  the  new 
house  was  built,  very  comfortable,  neat  and  appropriate.  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  preaching  in  it  within  the  first  year  of 
my  ministry. 

Mr.  Lusk,  with  genius,  power,  industry  and  success  in  the 
ministry,  was  never  so  prominent  in  the  Church  and  the 
country  as  many  men  are  with  less  than  half  his  ability  and 
learning.  This  was  the  result  of  eccentricities  that  were  per 
sonally  pleasing  to  his  intimate  friends,  making  him  an  en 
tertaining  companion,  but  detracting  somewhat  from  his 
public  influence.  Probably  these  traits  did  not  appear  in 
his  later  life  as  they  did  when  his  reputation  was  forming. 
But  there  is  no  wrong,  and  there  may  be  usefulness,  in  men 
tioning  the  fact  now,  as  a  hint  to  young  preachers.  Mr. 
Lusk  was  a  pure,  good  man,  of  splendid  natural  gifts  im 
proved  by  careful  study.  And  many  souls  brought  by  him  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth  are  his  crown  of  rejoicing  now. 


CALLING   BAD   NAMES. 

Some  time  ago  a  religious  newspaper  No.  i,  in  the  midst 
of  a  controversial  article,  called  another,  No.  2,  PECKSNIFF. 
Not  long  afterwards  No.  3  in  similar  discussion,  called  No.  i 
PECKSNIFF.  A  week  or  two  ago,  No.  4,  under  the  same  cir 
cumstances,  applied  the  same  term  to  No.  3.  It  now  re 
mains  for  No.  2  to  call  No.  3  PECKSNIFF,  and  the  quartette 
will  be  full.  It  is  not  likely  to  be ;  for  No.  2,  "  that's  me," 
has  too  many  sins  of  its  own  to  be  casting  stones  at  its 
neighbors.  We  have  all  done  the  things  we  ought  not  to 
have  done.  And  human  nature  is  so  weak,  and  there  is  so 
much  human  nature  in  folks,  there  is  no  telling  how  soon 
we  may  so  far  fall  from  grace  as  to  do  the  thing  that  seems 
the  most  unseemly. 

When  the  word   PECKSNIFF  was  used  as  a  term  of  re- 


26  IREtt&US  LETTERS. 

proach,  I  took  "  Martin  Chuzzlewit"  from  a  shelf  near  me,  and 
studied  the  pen  and  ink  portrait  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  by  Dickens. 
Familiar  as  I  had  been  with  the  general  features  of  his  face 
and  character,  he  revealed  fresh  and  startling  points  as 
viewed  with  eyesight  sharpened  by  the  fraternal  assurance 
that  he  was  reproduced  in  my  immediate  vicinity.  Mr. 
Dickens  had  drawn  this  character  with  masterly  skill  to 
illustrate  and  emphasize  the  Hypocrite  and  Humbug. 
Neither  of  these  words  alone  expresses  the  condensed  char 
acter  of  Mr.  Pecksniff.  The  evil,  the  devil  that  our  Lord 
said  Judas  was,  is  in  a  HYPOCRITE;  the  HUMBUG  may  want 
the  malice,  while  he  is  no  less  an  impostor  and  deceiver. 
Both  these  unlovely  and  detestable  characters  rolled  into 
one,  wrought  out  PECKSNIFF.  I  heard  Mr.  Vandenhoff  read 
some  passages  from  the  story  a  few  days  ago,  and  saw  the 
character  more  vividly  even  than  I  did  when  listening  to 
similar  scenes  enacted  by  the  author  himself. 

But  in  hearing  o'r  in  reading  or  merely  in  remembering 
them,  the  idea  of  PECKSNIFF  is  that  of  such  a  consummate 
scoundrel,  that  one  has  hardly  patience  to  believe  that  the 
world  tolerates  such  fellows  in  society.;  and  no  one  will  be 
lieve,  until  he  sees  the  evidence  around  him,  that  such  men 
do  succeed,  where  solid  merit  starves.  What  then  must  be 
the  estimate  in  which  we  hold  a  man,  a  Christian,  a  fellow- 
citizen,  a  co-worker,  when  we  hurl  at  him  the  epithet,  as  a 
title  that  expresses  our  whole  opinion  of  him  in  one  word, 
PECKSNIFF? 

We  are  now  passing  through  a  political  campaign.  It  is 
indeed  a  campaign,  itself  a  term  borrowed  from  the  language 
of  war,  where  and  when  on  the  champaign,  or  the  campagna, 
the  missiles  of  words  instead  of  bullets  have  been  hurled  by 
the  combatants.  And  what  words  !  It  was  a  fair  commen 
tary  on  our  political  warfare  which  was  made  by  an  intelli 
gent  English  gentlemen,  writing  home  from  this  country 
during  a  Presidential  campaign,  "that  it  was  evident  the 
two  worst  men  in  the  whole  land  had  been  put  in  nomina 
tion  for  the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the  people."  And 
what  is  even  more  remarkable,  we  seem  to  be  wholly  uncon- 


CALLING  BAD  NAMES.  27 

scious  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  offending  the  laws  of  taste, 
charity  and  common  morality.  One  of  the  newspapers 
when  speaking  of  its  neighbor  as  PECKSNIFF,  had  on  the 
same  page  a  lovely  essay  on  the  sin  and  folly  of  personali 
ties.  And  this  evening,  with  my  after  dinner  cup,  I  read  in 
the  paper  yet  damp  from  the  press,  a  leading  editorial  justly 
censuring  calumny  and  falsehood  by  which  our  best  men  are 
assailed,  and  in  the  next  column,  parallel  with  these  just 
words,  is  another  editorial  in  which  "  lying"  and  "  bigotry" 
and  "fanaticism"  are  imputed  to  religious  men  who  oppose 
the  editor's  views. 

I  cite  these  examples  because  they  are  here  before  me,  of 
present  and  pressing  interest,  flagrant  and  sickening  illustra 
tions  of  that  insensibility  to  our  own  vices  which  attends 
the  keenest  sight  and  scent  of  faults  in  others.  O  that  our 
eyes  had  been  so  made  as  to  enable  us  to  see  inwardly  as 
well  as  outwardly !  But  in  the  days  of  the  Great  Teacher, 
men  went  about  the  streets,  with  beams  in  their  own  eyes, 
trying  to  pick  out  little  specks  from  the  eyes  of  their  neigh 
bors. 

Nobody  was  ever  convicted  of  error  of  converted  from  sin 
by  being  called  a  bad  name.  Many  a  man  has  been  con 
firmed  in  his  wrong  doing  or  wrong  thinking  by  the  insult 
he  feels  when  a  name  of  reproach  is  given  him  which  he 
repudiates  and  resents.  It  is  not  impossible  that  wars,  in 
which  rivers  of  blood  have  been  shed  and  thousands  of  lives 
and  millions  of  treasure  lost,  might  have  been  averted  and 
avoided,  by  the  use  of  argument  in  the  place  of  abusive 
words.  It  has  sometimes  occurred  to  me  that  we  might 
have  preserved  the  peace  and  accomplished  all  that  has  been 
gained  of  good,  if  we  brethren  of  the  North  and  the  South, 
had  heard  and  obeyed  the  call  of  the  Lord,  "  Come  now  and 
let  us  reason  together,"  instead  of  indulging  in  reproach, 
denunciation,  vituperation,  as  the  staple  of  internecine  war 
fare,  until  the  cannon  opened  its  mouth  and  drowned  all 
talking  in  its  deadly  roar. 

It  is  not  the  way  to  convert  a  sinner  to  knock  him  down 
first  and  then  reason  with  him.  God  struck  Saul  with  light 


28  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

so  that  he  fell  from  his  horse.  That  kind  of  argument  be 
longs  to  the  Lord  "who  alone  doeth  wondrous  things."  We 
cannot  send  light  from  heaven.  We  must  approach  men 
with  the  gentleness  of  persuasion  while  we  know  ourselves 
the  terrors  of  the  Lord. 

Terms  of  reproach  become  sometimes  names  of  honor  and 
are  gloried  in  by  those  who  wear  them.  Christians,  so 
called  first  at  Antioch,  are  now  the  leaders  of  thought  and 
masters  of  nations.  The  cross  is  no  longer  a  badge  of 
shame.  Puritan,  Methodist,  Huguenot,  it  matters  not  what, 
the  name  is  nothing  :  there  is  no  argument  in  it.  Politicians 
try  the  power  of  bad  names  and  find  they  amount  to  noth 
ing:  Christians,  alas  !  dishonor  themselves  by  the  same  sin, 
and  gain  a  loss  by  it.  It  is  evil  and  only  evil  and  that  con 
tinually. 

How  ashamed  we  shall  be  of  this  kind  of  warfare  when  we 
are  all  together  in  the  Father's  house,  with  equal  and  un 
merited  glory  on  our  brows  !  And  this  reminds  me  : 

Some  years  ago  I  had  a  war  of  words  with  a  man  who  did 
not  see  with  me  about — well,  it  was  of  so  little  importance 
that  I  cannot  now  remember  what  we  quarrelled  about.  But 
we  waxed  warm,  hurled  at  each  other  the  hardest  words  we 
could  find  in  the  dictionary  ;  then  ceased  to  be  on  speaking 
terms,  and  met  in  silence  or  passed  with  no  sign  of  recogni 
tion.  I  went  abroad,  and  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni  was 
lodging  in  a  hotel  at  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc,  the  monarch 
of  mountains,  crowned  with  snow.  Having  arrived  at  even 
ing,  and  knowing  that  sunrise  was  the  most  favored  hour  for 
beholding  the  greatest  glory  that  mortal  eyes  may  see,  I 
arose  before  the  sun  and,  throwing  my  blanket  around  me, 
went  out — the  ground  was  covered  with  snow — to  catch  the 
first  view  of  sunlight  on  the  summit.  As  I  stepped  from 
the  door  on  one  side  of  the  court,  a  stranger,  similarly  robed 
and  on  the  same  errand  bent,  emerged  from  an  opposite 
door;  we  met  midway  in  the  yard,  and  stopped  before  the 
glory  then  to  be  revealed.  He  was  my  foe  in  the  war  of 
words.  With  a  hearty  laugh  and  glad  recognition,  as  if  we 
had  been  friends  from  childhood,  we  shook  hands,  and  stood, 


CALLING  BAD  NAMES.  29 

alone  and  at  one,  before  the  Majesty  of  God  in  the  works  of 
his  hand.  The  king  of  day  was  rising;  now  the  peak  was 
glistening  in  his  beams,  and  then  along  and  down  the  sheeted 
sides  of  the  monarch  fell  the  robes  of  sunlight,  dazzling  in 
splendor  as  if  the  floor  of  heaven  had  given  away,  and  the 
golden  beams  were  coming  down  to  men.  We  both  thought 
of  the  Sunrise  Hymn  of  Coleridge  in  this  vale,  and  one  of 
us  said : 

"  Companion  of  the  morning  star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald  !    Wake,  oh  wake  and  utter  praise." 

We  went  into  the  breakfast  room,  called  for  our  coffee  and 
rolls,  and,  breaking  bread  together,  forgot  we  ever  had  a 
fight,  and  were  good  enough  friends  ever  after.  He  has 
since  passed  through  another  valley  into  the  presence  of  the 
great  white  throne  of  which  Mont  Blanc,  with  the  sun  for  its 
crown,  is  the  faintest  emblem,  yet  the  most  glorious  we  shall 
see  till  we  stand  before  the  other ! 

And  just  now  I  have  received  a  letter  that  gives  me  a 
touch  of  the  pain  that  calling  bad  names  causes  even  in  a 
man  who  has  had  so  many  hurled  at  him  that  he  ought  to 
be  used  to  them.  It  is  not  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  as  St.  Paul 
had,  but  it  comes  from  St.  Paul  in  Minnesota — from  a  gen 
tleman  of  that  city,  who  informs  me  that  he  is  a  jobber  in 
supplies  for  pump  dealers,  plumbers,  gas  and  steam  fitters, 
mills  and  railroads,  steam  and  hot  air  heating  apparatus,  reg 
isters  and  ventilators,  gas  fixtures,  pumps,  hose,  iron  pipe, 
lead  pipe,  sheet  lead,  bath  tubs,  sinks,  brass  and  iron  fittings, 
etc.,  etc.  He  writes  these  words  : 

"  Reading  '  Irenasus  Letters,'  I  should  judge  him  to  be  as  fat  and  unctu 
ous  as  his  style — fond  of  the  pleasant  ways  of  life  and  taking  unkindly  to 
the  martyr's  crown,  except  by  pleasant  reference  in  jaunty  style  in  his  snug 
office  or  at  the  mansion  of  a  wealthy  entertainer." 

What  an  amiable  man  he  must  be  to  write  like  that !  He 
thinks  I  am  "  fat  and  unctuous ;"  there  he  .is  wrong:  "  fond 
of  the  pleasant  ways  of  life ;"  there  he  is  right — wisdom's 
ways  are  pleasantness  and  all  her  paths  are  peace :  I  like 


30  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

them :  he  thinks  I  would  take  "  unkindly  to  the  martyr's 
crown."  which  is  quite  probable  ;  we  know  not  what  we  are 
till  the  trial  comes.  Grace  according  to  our  day  is  the  pro 
mised  help.  To  be  played  upon  by  one  who  deals  in  "  Hot- 
air  heating  apparatus,  pumps,  hose,  iron  pipe,  sheet  lead,  and 
brass  fittings,"  may  fit  me  to  bear  racks  and  thumb-screws, 
and  chains  and  gridirons,  by  which  better  men  than  either 
of  us  have  been  helped  into  heaven.  We  cannot  all  be 
martyrs  :  but  there  is  no  good  reason  why  we  should  not  be 
gentlemen  and  Christians.  If  I  had  another  life  to  live  and 
two  thousand  letters  to  write  again,  with  God's  good  help  I 
would  not  hurt  the  feelings  of  the  humblest  of  all  God's 
creatures  honestly  trying  to  do  good.  He  might  be  as  big 
as  Daniel  Lambert,  and  I  would  not  call  him  fat  and  unc 
tuous  :  he  might  be  as  lean  as  Calvin  Edson,  and  I  would  not 
call  him  a  bag  of  bones.  I  would  count  each  day  lost  on 
which  I  had  not  made  some  hearts  gladder  than  they  were 
in  the  morning  ;  on  which  I  had  not  plucked  up  some  thorns, 
or  planted  some  flowers  on  the  path  of  human  life.  No  man 
can  so  live  without  enjoying  life.  Dogs  will  snarl  at  him.  but 
angels  are  around  him.  He  may  never  have  riches  or  fame, 
but  better  than  both  are  friends  and  God.  My  St.  Paul  friend 
is  trying  to  serve  his  Master  in  honest  trade :  if  riches  in 
crease,  my  prayer  is  that  he  may  never  be  pained  by  receiving 
a  letter  like  his  own. 


NEW  ENGLAND  HOMES  AND  GRAVES. 

MRS.  EASTMAN'S  FAMOUS  RIDE. 

Nothing  touches  me  more  painfully,  in  the  romantic 
rural  region  of  New  England,  than  to  see  large  and  comfort 
able  houses  empty  and  decaying.  I  have  just  returned  from 
a  drive  of  ten  miles  over  the  country,  and  have  seen  several  of 
them.  One  was  a  spacious  mansion,  with  a  large  courtyard 
filled  with  great  trees  and  luxuriant  shrubbery  and  vines, 


NEW  ENGLAND  HOMES  AND   GRAVES.  31 

showing  that  in  years  gone  by  it  had  been  the  abode  of 
wealth,  refinement  and  taste.  Now  it  was  windowless  and 
shattered.  Rank  vegetation  choked  the  walks  and  gardens. 
I  passed  three  or  four  such  deserts  on  this  one  drive.  They 
are  more  or  less  frequent  in  many  parts  of  New  England. 
Commercial  and  manufacturing  places  and  the  more  fertile 
lands  of  the  West  seduce  the  inhabitants  to  emigrate.  The 
tendency  of  things  is  out  of,  not  into,  these  rural  regions. 
If  the  population  of  the  State  increases  or  holds  its  own,  it 
is  in  the  growth  of  villages  and  cities.  And  as  one  passes 
these  vacant  dwellings — which  could  now  be  bought,  with 
plenty  of  land  about  them,  for  a  trifle — he  thinks  of  the 
home  life  that  has  been  enjoyed  within  them,  the  fireside, 
the  family,  the  birth  of  children,  their  childish  glees,  the 
joys  and  trials  of  this  world  of  work  and  care.  If  the  stones 
in  the  hearth  or  the  beams  of  the  wall  were  to  speak,  what 
tales  they  could  tell  of  domestic  and  social  life  in  these  halls 
now  given  up  to  bats  and  owls ! 

THE  FIRST   PASTOR'S  GRAVE. 

We  went  into  the  oldest  graveyard  in  the  town  of  Oilman- 
ton,  N.  H.  It  lies  on  a  plateau,  from  which  we  have  a  wide 
and  lovely  view ;  it  was  laid  out  in  1776,  when  the  first  inter 
ment  took  place.  The  first  church  in  the  town  was  near  it, 
and  one  still  remains,  but  no  pastor  looks  after  the  scattered 
and  diminished  flock.  A  new  school-house,  with  the  best 
modern  furniture  in  it,  shows  that  these  people  will  have  the 
means  of  education.  It  was  an  impressive  hour  among  the 
graves  of  this  congregation,  a  far  larger  one  than  now  lives. 
The  first  settlers  of  the  town  are  here.  In  the  middle  of  the 
enclosure,  with  a  brick  monument  over  him,  is  the  grave  of 
the  first  pastor,  the  Rev.  Isaac  Smith :  a  man  of  great  re 
nown,  whose  fame  is  still  a  part  of  the  wealth  of  Gilmanton. 
He  studied  with  Dr.  Bellamy,  and  was  with  Dr.  Wheelock 
at  Dartmouth  College  when  that  President  was  wont  to  call 
the  students  together  by  blowing  a  tin  horn.  In  the  habit 
of  preaching  carefully  written  sermons,  he  finally  laid  them 


32  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

aside  and  preached  extemporaneously  "  with  great  power 
and  eloquence."  And  of  him  it  was  said :  "  Justice,  truth, 
mercy  and  goodness  shone  in  his  character."  He  was  a 
Princeton  (N.  J.)  College  graduate.  On  the  top  of  the  mon 
ument  is  a  slate  slab  covered  with  an  appropriate  inscription 
and  these  lines  by  way  of  epitaph  : 

' '  Life  speeds  away, 

From  point  to  point,  tho'  seeming  to  stand  still ; 
The  cunning  fugitive  is  swift  by  stealth  ; 
Too  subtle  is  the  movement  to  be  seen, 
Yet  soon  man's  hour  is  up,  and  we  are  gone." 

He  died  in  1817,  aged  72;  and  his  wife,  who  sleeps  by  his 
side,  died  at  the  same  age  eleven  years  after  his  death. 

A   SPIRITUALISTIC  GRAVESTONE. 

Capt.  Daniel  Gale,  a  worthy  citizen,  whose  grandfather, 
Bartholomew  Gale,  came  from  England  to  Boston,  died  and 
was  buried  here  in  1801.  His  wife  Patience  died  also  in 
1804.  They  were  buried  side  by  side,  and  a  suitable  stone 
was  set  to  mark  their  graves.  This  was  nearly  80  years  ago. 
There  are  older  gravestones  than  theirs  in  this  venerable 
enclosure,  and  the  more  ancient  the  more  interesting  is  a 
monument  in  the  eyes  of  all  sensible  people.  But  all  peo 
ple  are  not  sensible,  and  one  of  the  descendants  of  this 
Daniel  Gale  was  foolish  enough  to  become  a  Spiritualist. 
While  enjoying  its  nonsense,  she  received  a  communication 
from  the  long  dead  Daniel  that  he  wanted  a  new  gravestone 
over  his  bones.  She  was  obedient  unto  the  revelation.  It 
was  not  much  of  a  stone  that  she  caused  to  be  put  up,  but  it 
is  large  enough  to  receive  the  name  of  the  Captain  and  his 
wife,  and  to  say  when  they  went  "to  the  Spirit  Land."  Then 
the  inscription  follows :  "  Love,  Wisdom  and  Progression." 
I  hope  that  no  mischievous  dealer  in  gravestones  will  take  a 
hint  from  this  to  employ  a  medium  to  instigate  the  present 
generation  to  have  their  ancestors'  tombs  done  over. 


NE  W  ENGLAND  HOMES  AND   GRA  VES,          33 


ROMANCE   AND    REALITY. 

Real  life  has  tragedies  and  episodes  and  secret  histories 
more  remarkable  than  fiction  invents.  If  any  spot  in  the 
world  could  be  free  from  all  romantic  incidents,  this  secluded 
region  might  be  quiet,  uniform  and  natural.  It  is  so  for  the 
most  part,  and  years  may  speed  their  course  without  any 
event  to  make  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of  society. 

But  we  rode  by  one  lone  house  to-day  which  has  its  story. 
The  owner  of  it,  when  a  young  man,  a  prosperous,  promis 
ing  farmer,  was  disappointed  in  love.  He  took  it  so  much 
to  heart  that  it  went  to  his  head.  He  became  mildly  de 
ranged.  Unable  to  manage  his  affairs,  the  farm  fell  into  the 
hands  of  relatives,  who  took  care  of  it  and  him.  He  did 
nothing  but  walk  around  and  around  his  house,  in  one 
uniform  circle.  His  footsteps  made  a  path  which  he  never 
left  but  to  go  into  the  house,  when  he  rested  from  his  circu 
lar  course,  to  resume  his  walk  on  the  morrow.  Years  and 
years  revolved  with  his  revolving  pilgrimage,  and  still  he 
travelled  on.  All  the  years  of  his  strong  life  wore  away, 
and  old  age  came  with  white  hair  and  beard,  making  his 
journey  more  pitiable  in  the  eyes  of  friends,  who,  passing  by. 
would  be  unnoticed  by  him  on  his  dreary  travel.  And  so 
he  marched  on,  until  the  silver  cord  was  loosed  and  the 
wheel  at  the  cistern  stood  still. 

In  this  meadow,  the  history  of  the  town  records,  the  wife 
of  one  of  the  well-known  citizens  was  killed  by  lightning 
while  raking  hay  on  the  Sabbath  day.  By  her  death  these 
lines  were  suggested : 

"  It  was  upon  the  holy  Sabbath  day, 
When  she  went  forth  to  rake  the  new-mown  hay ; 
The  forked  lightning  fell  upon  her  head, 
And  she  was  quickly  numbered  with  the  dead." 

Here  Mr.  Drew  froze  to  death.  In  this  house  "  a  child  of 
Capt.  Page  was  chocked  with  beans  going  down  the  windpipe 
and  died  in  seven  hours."  A  little  lake  lies  at  the  foot  of 


34  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

the  old  meeting-house  hill,  and  the  records  state:  "1809, 

May  28.  A  man, ,   ran  out  of  the  meeting-house, 

threw  himself  into  the  pond,  and  was  drowned."  It  seems 
to  me  justice  to  the  preacher  required  that  the  cause  of  his 
rushing  out  should  be  stated :  couldn't  he  stand  the  preach 
ing  ;  or  did  the  eloquence  of  the  stalwart  Isaac  Smith,  who 
was  then  the  pastor,  stir  his  conscience  so  that  in  remorse  he 
ran  from  the  house  of  God  and  plunged  into  the  placid 
bosom  of  the  convenient  pond? 

I  rode  along  by  the  side  of  this  peaceful  water  and  came 
to  the  house  concerning  which  another  sad  story  is  written  : 

"  1819,  Oct.  1 6.  Polly chocked  herself  by  tying  a  garter 

round  her  neck."  And  even  more  minutely  is  described  the 
melancholy  mode  of  Mrs.  Barter's  departure  in  1826:  "She 
hung  herself  on  the  Sabbath,  behind  the  door,  in  a  dark 
closet."  And  so  recently  as  in  1844,  a  man  who  bore  the 
same  name  with  the  second  President  of  the  United  States 
"  hung  himself  in  his  barn,  by  a  cord  twisted  from  new-made 
hay,  of  only  eight  blades."  And  the  venerable  Daniel  Lan 
caster,  author  of  the  History  of  Gilmanton,  and  now  resi 
dent  in  the  city  of  New  York,  relates  with  like  minuteness 
no  less  than  82  fatal  accidents  or  suicides  in  this  one  town 
before  the  year  1845.  Many  doubtless  occurred  that  are  not 
included  in  this  register,  which  was  closed  35  years  ago! 
Such  is  human  life  in  the  most  favorable  circumstances  for 
health,  peace  and  sweet  content. 

MARY   BUTLER  EASTMAN'S   RIDE. 

In  a  desert  field  near  the  roadside  we  saw  a  hollow,  in 
which  was  growing  a  small  tree.  The  turf  now  covers  the 
ruins  of  a  dwelling,  and  the  site  is  marked  by  this  hole, 
which  once  was  the  cellar.  A  friend  who  was  with  me 
said: 

''There  Mary  Butler,  Mrs.  Eastman,  lived,  when  she  took 
the  famous  ride." 

"Tell  me  the  story,  please." 

"  It  is  a  tale  of  the  Revolution.    At  the  very  opening  of 


NEW  ENGLAND  HOMES  AND   GRAVES.          35 

the  war  this  town  of  Gilmanton  was  wide  awake,  and  had 
her  delegate,  Col.  Antipas  Oilman,  in  the  Convention,  and 
twelve  men  from  this  town,  volunteers,  were  in  the  front  at 
Bunker  Hill.  Lieutenant  Ebenezer  Eastman  left  his  young 
wife  and  their  first-born  infant  in  the  house  that  stood  on 
this  spot,  and  led  this  little  band  to  battle.  Boston  is  90 
miles  away,  but  it  is  said  that  on  the  i7th  of  June,  1775, 
when  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  raging,  the  sound  of 
the  cannon  was  distinctly  heard.  There  was  no  way  of 
getting  speedy  intelligence,  but  the  news  soon  came  that  a 
great  battle  had  been  fought  and  Lieut.  Eastman  had  been 
slain.  The  wife  was  in  church  attending  public  worship 
when  the  dreadful  report  was  made.  But  she  would  not 
give  credit  to  it  till  she  had  it  confirmed.  Returning  home, 
she  saddled  a  horse,  took  her  only  child,  an  infant,  on  the 
saddle  in  front  of  her,  and  rode  through  the  forests,  along 
the  bridle-paths,  and  in  some  places  guided  only  by  trees 
that  had  been  blazed.  Forty  miles  of  her  lonely  journey 
were  travelled  when  she  reached  her  father's  house  at  Brent- 
wood.  She  had  expected  to  hear  the  truth,  whatever  it  was, 
when  this  first  half  of  her  ride  was  accomplished.  But  they 
had  heard  only  that  a  great  battle  had  been  fought.  The 
fate  of  her  husband  was  still  in  the  dark.  Here  she  spent 
the  night,  and  in  the  morning,  leaving  the  child  with  her 
friends,  she  resumed  her  saddle,  and  dashed  on  another  40 
or  50  miles  to  Charlestown  and  the  arms  of  her  gallant  hus 
band,  whom  she  found  alive  and  well,  one  of  the  heroes  of 
Bunker  Hill. 

"  That  was  the  feat  that  is  celebrated  in  song  and  story  as 
Mary  Butler's  ride.  Butler  was  her  maiden  name,  and  was 
dropped  when  she  married.  She  is  not  known  by  that  name 
in  these  parts.  We  will  soon  come  to  the  graveyard  where 
she  was  buried.  And  as  we  are  riding,  I  will  repeat  the 
names  of  the  eleven  children  that  Mary  had,  ten  of  them 
being  born  after  that  memorable  journey  on  horseback  to 
find  out  whether  she  was  a  wife  or  a  widow :  their  names 
were  Abigail,  who  was  on  the  saddle  with  her,  Ebenezer, 
Stephen,  Samuel,  Nehemiah,  Sally,  Ira  Allen,  Polly,  Shuah, 


36  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

Dolly,  and  William  Butler.  And  now  we  have  come  to  the 
graveyard,  and  the  grave  is  in  the  northeast  corner." 

I  left  the  carriage.  The  gate  was  fastened  (in  a  manner 
quite  common  in  the  country)  with  a  stake  slanted  up 
against  it  from  the  outside,  and  wading  through  the  rank 
weeds  and  grass  to  the  spot,  I  found  the  headstone  easily. 
On  it  was  inscribed  only  these  words :  "  To  the  memory  of 
Mary  Eastman,  wife  of  the  late  Lieut.  Ebenezer  Eastman, 
obt.  Dec.  13,  1832,  aet.  78  yrs.  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die 
in  the  Lord." 

By  the  side  of  her  grave  is  that  of  her  husband,  who  died 
38  years  before  her,  and  on  his  headstone  is  this  inscription : 

"In  memory  of  Ebenezer  Eastman,  obt.  Oct.  27,  1794.  JEt.  48  years. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  in  Gilmanton.  He  commanded  in  the 
Battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  He  died  in  early  life,  but  died  in  the  triumphs  of 
faith.  'That  life  is  long  enough  that  answers  life's  great  end." 


TAXING   A  CHILD'S  BRAIN. 

A  case  of  remarkable  memory,  of  great  folly  and  atrocious 
cruelty,  is  brought  to  my  knowledge.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  facts  are  as  you  will  now  read  them,  and  you  will 
be  prepared,  when  you  have  read  them,  to  believe  with  me 
that  the  party  in  fault  deserves  severe  censure,  and  perhaps 
punishment.  But  the  case  ought  to  be  made  public  as  a 
warning  to  teachers  and  parents  and  children. 

In  a  class  of  one  of  our  Sabbath-schools  was  a  girl  of  fine 
promise,  bright,  studious,  serious,  and  fond  of  the  school 
and  the  Bible,  which  she  read  with  attention.  She  was  in 
the  habit  of  committing  large  portions  of  it  to  memory,  and 
reciting  them  with  fluency  and  correctness.  This  led  hef 
teacher  to  encourage  the  child,  exciting  her  pride  and  ambi 
tion,  as  well  as  fostering  the  idea  that  nothing  was  too  hard 


TAXING  A    CHILD'S  BRAIN.  37 

for  her  to  accomplish.  A  few  weeks  ago  the  teacher  pro 
posed  to  the  girl  to  commit  to  memory  the  Proper  names  in 
the  Bible  so  as  to  repeat  them  at  one  recitation !  !  ! 

Anything  more  absurd,  more  foolish,  and  more  cruel  in 
the  way  of  a  Sabbath-school  lesson,  it  would  be  hard  to 
invent.  No  possible  benefit  could  be  derived  from  the 
knowledge  were  it  obtained.  What  good  would  it  do  for  a 
minister  or  anybody  else  to  be  able  to  repeat  all  the  names 
of  men,  women,  cities,  countries,  rivers  and  peoples  men 
tioned  in  the  Bible  ?  If  the  child  had  a  concordance  of  the 
Scriptures,  in  which  all  these  words  are  arranged  as  in  a  dic 
tionary,  she  could  work  at  them  more  readily  than  by  taking 
them  as  they  stand  in  the  Bible  itself.  But  it  is  quite  likely 
that  it  would  aid  the  memory  to  use  the  text  of  the  Bible, 
and  have  the  association  with  chapters  and  verses.  I  am 
not  informed  as  to  the  mode  in  which  she  undertook  to 
work  out  the  useless  task.  But  she  came  to  her  class  as 
usual,  and  the  pious  teacher,  taking  the  Bible  in  hand,  lis 
tened  and  watched,  while  the  little  martyr  stood  up  bravely 
to  the  torture  and  went  through  it  from  beginning  to  end ! 
AND  SWOONED  AWAY.  On  recovery  she  was  led  home  to 
her  mother,  a  pitiable,  perhaps  ruined  child. 

Now  I  have  no  words  of  indignation  adequate  to  express 
the  censure  which  this  injudicious  teacher  deserves  for  in 
flicting  such  a  task  upon  a  child,  or  permitting  her  to  under 
take  it,  or  even  allowing  her  to  repeat  the  result  of  it.  It 
may  be  that  the  teacher  will  say  the  child  proposed  it,  or 
performed  it  of  her  own  choice  without  being  told  to  do  it. 
But  it  is  of  little  moment  whether  this  particular  task  was 
self-imposed  or  not:  the  girl  was  made  a  martyr  to  her 
memory,  being  encouraged  in  these  feats  until  she  taxed  her 
brain  to  a  degree  that  will  probably  result  in  life-long  weak 
ness,  if  not  early  death.  It  would  have  been  quite  as  wise, 
Christian  and  kind,  to  have  put  the  child  in  a  walking-match, 
to  see  if  she  could  walk  six  days  running.  The  physical 
strain  would  soon  show  for  itself  the  injury  done,  and  the 
victim  would  be  rescued.  The  mental  strain  does  not  appear 
in  the  suffering  until  the  task  is  accomplished,  and  then 


38  I  RE  N^,  US  LETTERS. 

comes  the  reaction,  revealing  the  fatal  effects  of  the  folly 
and  the  sin. 

In  Sabbath-schools,  as  a  general  rule,  the  child's  memory 
is  not  employed  as  much  as  it  should  be.  Instead  of,  or  in 
connection  with,  answers  to  questions  in  a  book,  every  child 
ought  to  repeat  at  least  six  verses  of  Holy  Scripture  every 
Sabbath  day.  This  may  be  easily  attained  by  the  admirable 
habit  of  learning  one  verse  every  day  in  the  week,  reviewing 
and  repeating  them  all  on  the  Sabbath  morning,  and  then 
going  with  them  to  the  school,  there  to  be  recited  to  the 
teachers.  These  verses  thus  treasured  will  be  more  precious 
than  rubies  as  long  as  life  lasts.  In  this  way  I  learned  in 
childhood  some  of  the  Psalms  that  are  now  like  pearls. 
"  Behold  how  good  and  how  pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to 
dwell  together  in  unity,"  was  one  of  them  ;  the  23d  Psalm, 
and  the  I39th,  were  also  learned  in  the  same  way,  and — 
mark  this — what  portions  of  Scripture  I  did  not  learn  then, 
I  have  never  learned.  The  study  of  the  Bible  since  has 
doubtless  made  me  acquainted  more  and  more  with  its 
meaning,  its  breadth  and  depth  and  power  :  but  when  I  woo 
repose,  or  seek  communion  with  the  Author,  or  would  soar 
into  regions  of  divine  contemplation,  the  portions  of  God's 
word  that  were  ingrafted  before  I  was  twelve  years  old,  re 
fresh  me  as  did  the  old  oaken  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well, 
when,  a  heated  and  wearied  boy,  I  took  its  waters  on  my 
parched  lips.  Sweet  as,  yes,  sweeter  than  the  honey-comb 
are  words  that  have  lived  in  memory  half  a  century,  while 
they  who  taught  me  are  with  David  and  Mary  in  the  king 
dom  of  glory.  It  would  be  a  blessed  reaction  and  reform  if 
our  Sabbath-schools  would  encourage  and  require  every 
scholar  to  commit  to  memory  six  verses  of  the  Bible  every 
week. 

But  that  does  not  mitigate  the  folly  of  the  teacher  who 
puts  upon  a  child  the  absurd  task  of  learning  to  repeat  by 
rote  the  Proper  names  of  the  Bible !  It  may  be  that  her 
memory  was  of  that  abnormal  type  which  easily  retains  vast 
sums  and  sounds  without  associating  with  them  thoughts. 
Persons  have  been  known  to  repeat  whole  columns  of  a  news- 


TAXING  A    CHILD'S  BRAIN.  39 

paper  after  once  hearing  them  read.  Cyrus  knew  the  name 
of  each  soldier  in  his  mighty  army.  Shepherds  have  had  a 
name  for  each  3~heep  in  a  great  flock.  Pastors  have  been  able 
to  call  each  of  their  many  lambs  by  name.  A  lady  near  me 
repeated  every  word  of  the  Shorter  Catechism  on  the  day  she 
was  five  years  old.  I  can  now  repeat  the  exceptions  to  the 
rule  under  the  3d  declension  of  Latin  nouns  ending  in  e  of 
the  Ablative  case,  though  I  have  not  seen  them  since  early 
childhood,  and  we  used  to  say  there  were  more  exceptions  than 
examples.  But  all  these  are  as  nought  compared  with  the 
silly  task  of  pressing  on  the  brain  of  a  poor  child  more  than 
2,000  Proper  nouns,  that  cannot  be  used  when  learned,  and 
which  no  sensible  person  ever  tried  to  learn.  Just  take  a  lit 
tle  slice  out  of  the  lesson.  There  are  28  names  in  the  Bible 
beginning  with  the  letter  O,  viz.:  Obadiah,  Obal,  Obed, 
Obed-Edom,  Obil,  Ocran,  Oded,  Og,  Ohel,  Olympas,  Omar, 
Omega,  Omri,  On,  Onan,  Onesimus,  Onesiphorus,  Ophel, 
Ophir,  Ophrah,  Oreb,  Orion,  Oman,  Orpah,  Othni,  Othniel, 
Ozem,  Ozias.  How  long  would  it  take  you  to  master  that 
short  list  ?  It  is  very  easy  to  get  the  run  of  words  that  have 
some  principle  of  association  among  them.  "  Peter  Piper 
picked  a  peck  of  pickled  peppers :  where  is  the  peck  of  pic 
kled  peppers  that  Peter  Piper  picked?"  is  easier  to  learn  than 
to  say.  The  i  iQth  Psalm,  in  the  original,  is  divided  into  sec 
tions,  each  beginning  with  the  letter  at  the  head  of  the  divis 
ion,  and  thus  that  longest  of  the  Psalms  was  more  easily 
learned.  There  are  systems  of  mnemonics,  artificial  aids  of 
more  or  less  use  according  to  one's  taste  or  needs.  The  very 
simple  rule  is  "  the  strength  with  which  two  ideas,  words,  or 
things,  stick  together  in  the  memory,  is  in  the  inverse  ratio 
of  their  phrenotypic  distance."  You  understand  that,  and  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  apply  it  and  you  will  remember  almost 
anything  else. 

Have  mercy  on  the  children.  Spare  their  infant  brains  the 
labor  of  holding  what  is  of  no  value,  and  may  greatly  injure 
them.  When  I  see  children  on  the  street  taking  home  their 
books,  maps,  &c.,  after  five  or  six  hours  in  school,  I  am  tempt 
ed  to  complain  of  their  teachers  and  parents  to  that  useful 


4°  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

institution  for  the  "  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children."  It 
is  very  well  to  invade  the  circus  and  theatre  and  rescue  acro 
bats  and  ballet  dancers :  it  is  very  well  to  stop  Italian  beggar 
boys  from  following  monkeys  and  organ-grinders  :  but  better 
and  humaner  would  be  the  charity  that  should  open  the  eyes 
of  mothers  and  others  to.  the  sinful  folly  of  overlading  the 
young  mind  with  the  lore  of  books,  when  what  they  more 
need  is  beef  and  fresh  air. 

And  if  the  S.  P.  C.  C.  will  arrest  and  punish  the  Sunday- 
school  teacher  whose  indiscretion  inspires  this  epistle,  I  will 
pay  the  expenses  of  the  prosecution. 


SUMMER  BOARD  AND  SUMMER  BOARDERS. 

"  Advice  gratis"  is  never  taken  to  be  worth  anything.  As 
the  fruit  of  long  experience  may  be  of  some  practical  use  to  a 
numerous  class  of  people,  viz.,  boarders  and  those  who  take 
boarders  in  the  country,  I  offer  this  letter  under  the  trees  to 
my  fellow-sufferers  and  friends. 

ADVICE  TO  THOSE  WHO  TAKE  BOARDERS. 

First  get  a  gridiron.  This  is  a  kitchen  utensil  made  of 
iron ;  as  the  name  indicates.  It  differs  from  a  griddle  in  a 
very  important  respect :  the  griddle  is  a  solid  flat  surface  on 
which  meat  or  any  compost  may  be  fried  in  fat.  Everybody 
in  the  country  knows  a  griddle.  It  has  been  in  use  from  time 
immemorial,  and  the  soft  memories  of  griddle-cakes  linger  in 
the  mind  of  every  one  who  was  raised  in  this  or  any  other 
land  of  cakes.  A  frying-pan  is  used  for  the  same  purpose  as 
a  griddle,  and  for  other  purposes,  the  chief  of  them  indicated 
by  the  name.  It  is  for  frying. 

But  a  gridiron  is  another  and  a  totally  different  article.  Its 
nature,  design  and  duty  are  in  a  line  of  service  distinct  and 
different  in  all  that  concerns  the  comfort,  health  and  life  of 
the  boarder  who,  for  the  time  being,  is  your  guest,  and  looks 
to  you  to  be  his  minister  in  things  pertaining  to  his  daily 


SUMMER  BOARD  AND   SUMMER  BOARDERS-     41 

food.  Gradually  approaching  my  subject,  again  I  ask,  have 
you  a  gridiron  ?  Or,  not  having  one,  do  you  know  what  it  is  ? 
It  consists  of  several  narrow  separated  iron  bars  usually  lying 
parallel,  secured  at  the  ends,  so  that  they  will  support  a  slice 
of  meat,  or  a  cleft  chicken,  over  a  bed  of  glowing  coals. 
The  process  of  cooking  meat  on  a  gridiron  is  broiling,  in  con 
tradistinction  from  frying,  which  is  done  in  a  griddle  or  pan. 
In  the  latter  case,  the  flesh  is  cooked  in  its  own  fat,  which 
becomes  set  or  fixed  in  the  meat,  baked,  jellied,  and  the  food 
is  tough,  hard  and  indigestible.  In  the  broiling  process  the 
outside  is  quickly  charred,  the  juices  are  retained,  and  the 
meat  is  more  tender,  better  flavored  and  far  more  digestible. 
The  same  difference  exists  between  baking  and  roasting.  Put 
a  piece  of  beef  or  a  turkey  into  a  pan  and  shut  it  up  in  a  hot 
oven  till  it  is  done,  and  you  call  it  roasted,  but  it  is  not :  it  is 
baked.  Put  it  on  a  spit,  in  a  Dutch  oven  standing  before  the 
fire,  or  hang  it  over  the  coals  and  let  it  cook  and  drip,  basting 
it  meanwhile  with  things  appropriate,  and  the  meat  will  be 
roasted.  The  difference  between  baked  and  roasted  meats  is 
similar  to  the  difference  between  fried  and  broiled.  And  the 
difference  in  the  taste,  though  great,  is  not  so  great  as  the 
difference  in  the  digestibility  of  the  two.  The  frying-pan  is 
the  source  of  a  large  part  of  the  dyspepsia  that  abounds  in 
the  country.  And  so  painfully  sensible  are  many  people  on 
this  subject,  they  will  not  eat  that  which  is  fried,  preferring 
to  fast  rather  than  become  the  victims  of  a  fit  of  indigestion 
which  with  them  is  sure  to  follow  the  eating  of  meats  that 
are  thus  cooked. 

Therefore,  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  purpose  first  to  take 
summer  boarders  from  the  city,  get  unto  yourselves  a  grid 
iron.  I  do  not  deny  that  the  frying-pan  has  its  uses.  And 
the  saying  "  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire"  is  so  ancient, 
that  it  is  certain  the  utensil  is  of  no  modern  date.  But  many 
evils  in  this  world  are  of  long  standing,  and  antiquity  is  no 
palliation  of  their  ill-deserts.  It  does  indeed  render  them 
more  respectable,  and  much  harder  of  extirpation,  but  they 
do  not  grow  better  with  age;  and  their  respectability  does 
not  forbid  their  criticism. 


42  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

There  is  a  moral  aspect  also  in  which  this  gridiron  versus 
frying-pan  question  is  to  be  viewed.  Good  digestion  is  in 
order  to  the  normal  exercise  of  the  moral  faculties.  Much  of 
that  depression  of  spirit  which  gets  the  name  of  religious 
melancholy,  gloom,  loss  of  hope,  actual  despair,  comes  of 
dyspepsia.  A  writer  on  physiology  says  : 

"  Many  persons  do  not  exactly  know  where  their  stomach 
is,  and  a  still  larger  number  are  apt  to  forget  that  it  lies  very 
close  underneath  the  heart." 

Just  so  nearly  related  in  morals,  as  in  physics,  are  the 
stomach  and  the  heart.  This  is  another  and  constraining 
consideration  in  favor  of  roasting  and  broiling,  and  against 
baking  and  frying  our  meat. 

Passing  from  this,  but  without  leaving  the  table,  let  me 
intimate  in  the  gentlest  terms  that  are  adequate  to  the  emer 
gency,  that  city  boarders  in  the  country  desire  abundance  of 
those  things  which  are  supposed  to  be  abundant  in  the  rural 
districts.  Yet  to  my  certain  knowledge  farmers  and  others 
who  have  attracted  summer  boarders  to  their  houses,  send 
eggs,  poultry,  and  even  milk  to  market,  while  their  boarders 
are  hungering  and  thirsting  after  some  of  these  good  things, 
and  find  them  not.  Fruit  and  vegetables  which  ought  to  be 
furnished  in  the  greatest  profusion,  are  often  far  more  of  a 
rarity  in  the  country  than  in  the  city.  For  this  there  is  no 
adequate  excuse.  It  is  little  short  of  robbery,  it  is  certainly 
an  imposition,  to  offer  board  in  the  country,  without  making 
provision  for  the  supply  of  those  staples  of  the  country  with 
out  which  health  and  contentment  are  impossible.  This  is 
more  emphatically  true  when  children  are  to  be  fed.  And 
when  they  cry  for  food,  it  is  a  shame  that  they  cannot  have 
plenty  of  that  which  is  convenient  for  them. 

Yet  many  a  good  matron  in  the  country  thinks  to  please 
her  boarders  by  pastries  and  puddings,  while  she  neglects 
the  weightier  matters,  such  -as  poultry  and  peas. 

And  the  bed ;  O  my  friend,  have  pity  on  the  weary  bones 
of  your  guest,  who  has  been  beguiled  to  your  rural  resting 
place.  That  is  not  a  bed  for  an  honest  man  that  you  have 
made  of  straw,  or  shavings,  or  husks.  A  good  bed  may, 


SUMMER  BOARD  AND  SUMMER  BOARDERS.    43 

perhaps,  have  been  made  out  of  some  such  materials ;  and  I 
have  slept  on  worse  beds,  and  been  happy  and  thankful.  If 
duty  or  necessity  required,  one  might  sleep  on  the  oaken 
floor,  or  on  a  rock  out  of  doors,  and  enjoy  it.  But  that  does 
not  make  it  right  for  you  to  put  me  upon  a  bed  worse  than 
my  desired  gridiron,  and  charge  me  a  round  price  for  the 
luxury !  I  have  been  at  the  seaside,  and  in  the  mountains, 
and  in  country  villages,  paying  fair  prices  for  summer  board, 
and  the  beds  were  so  thin,  hard,  uneven,  hillocky,  musty, 
and  the  pillows  so  insignificant  in  size  and  so  contemptible 
in  material,  that  each  night  was  a  torment  instead  of  a  re 
freshment,  and  "  O  how  welcome  was  the  morning  light !" 

I  will  not  write  to  you  of  cleanliness.  No  rhetoric  will 
open  the  eyes  to  dirt.  The  faculty  of  seeing  it  is  a  gift ;  and 
with  all  your  gettings,  if  you  have  not  a  horror  of  this  great 
evil  you  will  never  acquire  it.  Therefore,  one  must  put  up 
with  your  infirmity  once  and  never  suffer  it  again.  Yet 
cleanliness  is  a  grace  that  crowns  the  rest  with  a  halo,  and 
without  it  a  palace  would  be  unendurable  by  a  "  pure  and 
virtuous  soul." 

Pardon  these  hints.  I  will  now  speak  to  the  boarders. 
They  need  speaking  to.  They  are  unreasonable,  exacting, 
provoking,  ungrateful,  impertinent,  and  take  so  many  airs 
upon  themselves  that  I  must  take  them  down  a  little. 


There  are  many  excellent  people,  who  spend  a  few  weeks 
or  months  in  the  country  every  summer, — reasonable,  Chris 
tian,  pleasant  people,— who  have  regard  to  the  rights  and 
feelings,  and  even  the  weaknesses  and  shortcomings  of  others. 
To  such  good  people,  of  whom  the  world  is  hardly  worthy, 
why  should  I  write  ?  I  could  not  make  them  any  better  if  I 
were  to  try.  And  my  fear  is  that  the  other  sort  of  boarders 
will  imagine  that  they  too  are  perfect ;  and  so  between  them 
both  my  words  will  be  like  water  spilled  on  the  floor,  that 
does  no  good  where  it  is,  and  cannot  be  gathered  up  again. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  of  all  attainments  is  the  art  of 
easily  and  gracefully  adapting  one's-self  to  any  circumstances, 


44  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

so  as  to  be  at  home,  and  agreeable,  whether  all  things  go  to 
one's  satisfaction  or  not.  To  be  thoroughly  pleased  with 
the  arrangements  that  others  make  for  us,  after  having  for  a 
time  abandoned  our  own,  is  next  to  impossible.  Hence  we 
put  it  as  the  highest  proof  of  being  pleased,  that  we  are  per 
fectly  at  home.  Next  to  being  so,  is  the  honest  effort  to 
make  others  feel  that  you  are  so. 

To  find  everything  in  a  farm-house,  or  boarding-house,  or 
a  hotel,  as  you  left  it  at  home  is  out  of  the  question.  And 
it  often  happens  that  the  more  show,  fuss  and  cost,  the  less 
real  comfort  is  afforded. 

But  if  you  go  to  the  country  with  a  conviction  that  be 
cause  you  are  city  bred,  you  will  be  "  looked  up  to,"  and 
treated  with  a  deference  that  your  rank  is  entitled  to,  you 
will  be  disappointed.  Many  city  people,  especially  those 
who  have  suddenly  acquired  wealth,  assume  the  position  of 
superiors,  and  when  they  act  out  their  assumptions,  they 
make  themselves  both  ridiculous  and  unhappy.  It  is  the 
token  of  true  nobility  to  make  even  the  lowliest  at  ease  in 
your  presence.  And  the  advent  of  such  a  well-bred  person 
into  the  house  of  a  rural  family  is  soon  found  to  be  a  pleas 
ure  to  the  old  and  the  young.  While  on  the  other  hand,  the 
airs  and  tones,  and  fidgets  and  fretfulness,  and  sneers  and 
complaints  of  a  parvenu  are  enough  to  make  a  boarding- 
house  wretched  to  all  its  inmates.  Some  people  imagine 
that  they  will  be  thought  genteel  just  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  times  they  ring  the  bell  and  call  for  a  servant  to 
wait  upon  them.  They  are  careful  also  not  to  manifest  in 
terest  in  the  family  whose  services  they  pay  for,  and  by  keep 
ing  a  thick  wall  between  them  and  others  they  hope  to  ex 
hibit  that  exclusiveness  which  they  have  conceived  to  be  the 
specific  mark  of  high  aristocracy.  Such  people  are  never 
comfortable.  And  happy  is  that  house  and  that  neighbor 
hood  where  none  of  them  go  to  board  in  the  summer. 

On  the  very  common  sense  principle  that  every  one  is 
bound  to  make  himself  useful  wheresoever  he  lives  and 
moves,  what  a  world  of  good  might  be  done  if  each  city 
boarder  were  a  missionary  in  the  country !  Not  of  religion 


SUMMER  BOARD  AND    SUMMER  BOARDERS.    45 

only.  That  duty  needs  no  preaching  from  me.  Bear  in 
mind  that  you  are  not  your  own,  and  you  do  not  live  for 
yourselves  even  when  seeking  health  and  pleasure  away 
from  home.  But  there  are  other  duties,  not  classed  under 
the  head  of  religious,  though  in  one  sense  all  duties  are 
religious — the  duty  of  making  the  best  of  everything;  of 
enduring  what  is  past  curing;  of  bearing  other  people's  bur 
dens  ;  of  wearing  a  kindly  face  and  speaking  friendly  words ; 
of  being  the  servant  of  those  who  need  service,  albeit  they 
are  ungrateful. 

There  is  a  way  to  make  the  house  and  grounds  cheerful  by 
such  a  manner  as  will  spread  itself  like  the  breeze  and  sun 
shine,  gladdening  all  hearts,  and  giving  pain  to  none.  There 
is  also  a  way  to  make  everybody  uncomfortable  because  you 
seem  to  be  so :  it  is  a  habit  of  finding  fault  with  everything, 
or  certainly  with  many  things :  of  often  saying,  "  How  much 
better  everything  is  at  home  than  here  :"  which  may  be  very- 
true,  and  yet  it  may  be  very  unkind  to  say  it ;  and  it  is  gen 
erally  agreed  that  those  people  who  live  the  most  shabbily 
at  home,  find  the  most  fault  and  put  on  the  greatest  airs 
when  they  are  away. 

And  there  are  many — you,  dear  friends,  are  among  them — 
who  take  delight  in  making  the  village,  or  country-side,  or 
the  sea-side  brighter  and  better  by  your  presence,  identifying 
yourself,  even  for  a  little  while,  with  the  church,  and  every 
good  work  that  needs  a  helping  hand,  and  leaving  behind 
you  memorials  of  your  usefulness,  that  will  often  call  up 
your  name  among  the  country  people  who,  for  a  time,  had 
you  as  a  summer  boarder. 


4<5  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


A  COUNTRY  PASTOR'S  SERMON. 

It  would  have  done  you  good  to  be  with  me  yesterday. 

Up  here  among  the  hills,  and  therefore  the  valleys,  we  have 
"the  stated  means  of  grace,"  and  very  good  means  they  are, 
better  by  many  degrees  than  are  sometimes  enjoyed  or 
endured  in  the  more  elevated  parts  of  the  Church.  The  min 
ister  is  much  more  of  a  man  than  he  looks  to  be.  And  he 
looks  to  be  more  and  more  of  a  man  the  oftener  you  set  your 
eyes  on  him,  especially  if  you  can  see  him  when  you  can  hear 
him  also.  Personal  appearance  ought  not  to  be  of  much 
account  in  the  pulpit,  but  it  is.  He  is  of  medium  height  and 
age.  His  voice  is  strong,  so  is  his  style.  Earnest,  and  yet 
gentle,  he  commands  and  wins.  He  has  been  here  ten  years, 
and  has  a  firm  hold  on  the  affections  and  respect  of  the 
people. 

He  deserves  it.  I  have  no  wish  to  disturb  him  by  publish 
ing  his  name  abroad,  but  I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  his 
preaching.  It  will  be  only  a  skeleton,  wanting  the  muscle, 
blood  and  life  of  his  discourse.  The  text  shows  that  he  is  a 
thinking  man  who  finds  suggestions  of  truth  where  others  see 
only  the  one  beautiful  and  simple  story.  It  was  a  line  taken 
from  the  narrative  of  the  woman  at  the  Well  of  Samaria : 

"THOU  HAST  NOTHING  TO  DRAW  WITH  AND  THE  WELL 
IS  DEEP." 

The  well  is  the  infinite  truth  of  God  in  his  written  Word. 
The  deep  things  of  God  are  not  so  deep  as  to  be  entirely 
beyond  the  reach  of  those  who  have  something  to  draw  with, 
but  for  those  who  thus  come  without,  there  is  no  help :  they 
cannot  get  a  drop  of  water  from  the  well  of  salvation,  the 
Word  of  eternal  life.  This  is  the  simple  explanation  of  the 
well-known  fact  that  many  who  are  called  the  people  of  God 
go  all  their  lifetime  without  obtaining,  clear,  comforting  and 
satisfactory  views  of  divine  truth :  they  are  perplexed  with 
doubts  and  fears,  and  even  suffer  so  severely  from  want  of 
water,  that  they  dry  up  and  become  skeptics,  unbelievers,  and 
perish  in  their  ignorance  and  sin.  They  have  nothing  to 


A    COUNTRY  PASTOR'S  SERMON.  47 

draw  with  and  the  well  is  deep.  They  can  get  nothing  out  of 
it  to  slake  the  thrist  of  their  immortal  souls. 

The  man  of  science,  or  the  wise  philosopher,  or  the  learned 
rationalist,  comes  to  the  well,  each  with  his  own  instruments 
for  the  measurement  of  its  depth  and  to  get  the  water  up  to 
the  surface.  Each  of  them  makes  a  trial.  The  man  of  science 
discovers  that  there  is  nothing  in  it,  for  he  can  prove  that 
many  mistakes  have  been  made  by  those  who  have  relied  upon 
it  for  a  supply  of  water.  The  philosopher  says  it  is  far  better 
to  seek  water  at  a  running  stream  or  a  bubbling  fountain, 
than  at  the  bottom  of  a  well.  And  the  rationalist  is  sure 
there  is  no  water  in  it,  for  he  has  often  tried  to  get  a  drink 
and  always  found  it  exceedingly  dry. 

The  preacher  described,  in  very  neat  and  appropriate  terms, 
the  motions  of  these  wise  men  in  their  explorations  of  the 
well,  going  all  about  it,  peering  over  the  edge  of  it,  and  look 
ing  down  into  the  abyss,  and  turning  away  in  disgust  because 
there  was  no  water  they  could  reach.  They  had  nothing  to 
draw  with  and  the  well  was  deep.  This  is  just  the  difference 
between  those  who  have  and  those  who  have  not  the  means 
by  which  the  water  of  life  is  to  be  drawn  from  the  well  of 
God's  eternal  Word.  The  woman  of  Samaria  (he  said)  knew 
not  that  she  was  speaking  to  the  Saviour  himself :  the  foun 
tain  of  life :  the  living  well,  when  she  told  him  He  had  noth 
ing  to  draw  with.  But  he  opened  unto  her  the  gospel  and 
revealed  Himself  to  her,  and  then  to  her  friends,  as  the  water 
of  which  if  a  man  drinks  he  will  never  thirst  again.  And  so 
it  is  in  all  the  ages  of  the  world.  To  get  the  water  of  life 
out  of  the  truth  of  God,  it  is  needful  only  to  come  through 
Jesus  Christ,  with  humble  faith  in  Him  who  is  the  way  and 
the  truth,  and  the  water  which  no  man  of  science  or  wisdom 
can  draw  with  all  his  inventions,  will  spring  up  in  him  in 
stantly  unto  everlasting  life.  The  untutored  peasant,  in  his 
cottage  with  the  Bible  on  his  knee,  reads,  loves  and  receives. 
It  is  refreshment  to  his  soul.  Not  to  the  traveller  in  a  dry 
and  thirsty  land  is  a  gushing  spring  more  gladdening  than  is 
the  promise,  and  the  poetry,  and  the  story  of  God's  mighty 
Word,  to  the  humble  and  believing  child  of  poverty,  or  sor- 


LETTERS. 

row,  who  receives  it  as  a  child,  and  trusts  his  soul  with  joyful 
faith  in  the  Divine  word. 

"I  remember,"  said  he,  "the  'old  oaken  bucket  that  hung 
in  the  well,'  and  the  gladness  with  which  I  pressed  my  dry 
lips  to  its  rim  and  drank  the  cool  water  which,  in  a  hot  sum 
mer  day,  I  had  drawn  from  the  well.  I  knew  the  water  was 
there:  the  bucket  was  there:  and  before  I  ever  drew  it  I 
knew  it  was  good.  And  I  come  with  the  same  childlike  con 
fidence  to  the  fountain  of  God's  Word  :  I  know  it  is  pure  and 
true  and  good  :  and  that  I  may  drink  of  it  freely  and  abun 
dantly  and  shall  live  forever.  1  do  not  take  a  microscope  and 
examine  each  drop  to  see  if  there  be  any  impurity  in  it :  nor 
do  I  search  the  town  records  to  ascertain  if  it  be  the  same  well 
that  our  fathers  drank  of :  I  come  to  it  with  faith,  and  love,  and 
joy;  and  its  waters  are  sweet  to  my  taste,  and  my  thirst  is 
slaked,  my  heart  is  full,  and  I  bless  God  for  the  provision  of 
his  holy  Word." 

It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  give  a  fair  and  adequate 
impression  of  this  able  and  ingenious  discourse.  Its  obvious 
object,  and  he  worked  it  out  well,  was  to  show  that  the  spirit 
of  captious  criticism,  or  of  doubt  and  fear,  was  fatal  to  the 
understanding  and  enjoyment  of  the  truth  :  that  Christ  gives 
the  water  to  them  who  believe  and  do  His  will,  and  he  quoted 
the  familiar  texts  of  Scripture  that  teach  this  elementary 
truth  of  the  gospel,  that  they  who  are  willing  to  obey  shall 
know  of  the  doctrine. 

I  looked  over  the  congregation,  and  observed  them  care 
fully  as  I  came  with  them  out  of  the  house  at  the  close  of  the 
service,  and  saw  that  they  were  rural  and  simple  folk :  not 
rude,  but  unfamiliar  with  what  is  called  the  world:  and  under 
the  wise  teachings  of  this  noble  preacher  and  pastor  they 
were  being  trained  intelligently  for  the  true  enjoyment  of 
religion  and  for  glory  beyond  the  skies.  Happy  people! 
They  have  something  to  draw  with  when  they  come  to  the 
well.  Their  pure,  unclouded  faith,  that  no  shade  of  doubt 
ever  disturbed  for  an  hour,  brings  to  their  lips  and  their 
hearts  the  cooling  draughts,  and  they  will  never  thirst  with 
out  having  the  living  waters  springing  up  in  them  unto  ever 
lasting  life. 


AfXS.  DOREMUS.  49 


MRS.  DOREMUS. 

Soon  after  my  coming  to  New  York,  to  the  work  that  still 
is  my  life-work,  Mrs.  Doremus  called  to  enlist  me  in  aid  of 
some  scheme  of  benevolence,  to  which  she  had  put  her  hand. 

She  had  then  been  more  than  ten  years  the  leading  spirit 
in  missionary  enterprise:  having  been  one  of  those  noble 
women  in  1828  who  sent  out  aid  to  the  Greeks  by  the  hand 
of  Jonas  King,  and  in  1834,  with  Mrs.  Divie  Bethune,  had  set 
on  foot  a  plan  to  educate  women  in  the  East,  a  scheme  that 
ripened  into  that  mighty  ministry  of  mercy — the  Woman's 
Union  Missionary  Society — a  tree  with  many  branches,  whose 
leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 

When  she  came  to  me  thirty-seven  years  ago  it  was  in  the 
interest  of  the  City  and  Tract  Mission,  and  afterwards  the 
City  Bible  Society;  and  by  and  by  the  House  and  School  of 
Industry,  and  the  Nursery  and  Child's  Hospital,  and  then 
that  grand  establishment,  the  Woman's  Hospital.  Dr.  Sims, 
who  is  the  father  of  that  house  of  mercy,  has  told  me  that  he 
made  no  headway  with  his  project  till  he  went  to  Mrs.  Dore 
mus,  who  touched  it,  and  it  lived.  What  men  could  not 
do,  she  did.  Even  the  Legislature  of  the  State  obeyed 
her  will,  m&gave  the  charter.  All  the  charities  of  the  city, 
of  every  sect  and  of  none,  private  or  public,  were  objects  of 
her  solicitude  and  prayers.  I  never  knew  which  one  was  her 
peculiar  care.  She  had  no  hobby,  and  made  no  claim  that 
this  or  that  object  was  the  most  important.  She  was  the 
good  genius  of  every  good  work,  and  so  the  blessing  of  all 
the  good  came  on  her.  It  was  a  privilege  and  a  joy  to  do 
what  she  wanted  done.  Her  wishes  in  the  sphere  of  Christian 
work  were  laws  which  it  was  a  pleasure  to  obey.  For  full 
well  did  I  know  her  wisdom  was  equal  to  her  zeal,  and  it  was 
safe  to  assist  in  any  plan  which  had  enlisted  her  intelligent 
support. 

Nearly  forty  years  I  have  seen  her  at  work  :  have  recorded 
much  of  it :  have  gazed  on  it  with  wonder,  and  sometimes 
with  awe  !  Not  one  plan  of  hers  has  been  the  subject  of  just 


50  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

criticism.  Never  has  the  manner  of  her  work  been  open  to 
exception.  She  never  betrayed  a  weakness,  never  assumed  a 
prominence  that  was  not  becoming  a  sensible,  Christian  wife, 
mother,  lady  and  woman. 

I  have  the  memoirs  of  nearly  three  thousand  women,  dis 
tinguished  in  many  ages,  for  deeds  that  have  made  their 
names  illustrious  in  the  annals  of  time.  Among  them  there 
is  not  one,  no,  not  one,  whose  record  is  more  bright  and 
beautiful  in  the  light  of  heaven  than  hers.  I  have  studied 
these  records  carefully  and  dispassionately,  and  if  now  the 
women  were  standing  before  me  in  one  shining  company,  I 
would  say  without  fear,  "  Many  daughters  have  done  virtu 
ously,  but  thou,  my  friend,  excellest  them  all." 

Some  of  them  wore  crowns  and  had  power  that  was  not 
hers.  Others  were  endowed  with  gifts  to  write,  and  have 
filled  the  world  with  their  fame.  Some  have  gone  on  foreign 
missions,  and  others  among  the  sick  and  wounded,  and  have 
visited  prisons  and  founded  orphanages,  and  made  thousands 
of  homes  and  hearts  glad  with  the  music  of  their  lives.  I 
have  not  forgotten  their  names  or  their  deeds.  I  remember 
the  women  of  Old  Testament  times,  and  the  Marys  of  the 
gospel,  and  her  who  bathed  her  Saviour's  feet  with  her  tears  : 
I  believe  in  the  sainted  women  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  whose 
works  will  be  in  everlasting  remembrance,  and  the  martyrs 
whose  blood  was  the  least  of  their  gifts  to  the  cause  of  their 
Redeemer:  and  the  noble  women  of  modern  times  whose 
pious  labors  for  the  poor  and  the  insane  have  added  lustre  to 
the  beauty  of  their  sex,  and  entitled  them  to  the  gratitude  of 
mankind.  I  know  their  names,  and  love  to  read  them  on  the 
roll  to  be  called  when  the  King  shall  say,  "  Come  ye  blessed 
of  my  Father."  But  of  them  all  there  is  not  one  who  wrought 
more  for  Christ  than  she  whose  name  is  like  ointment  poured 
forth  among  us,  and  whose  virtues  shall  be  cherished  as  her 
richest  legacy  to  the  Church  of  God. 

The  fine  arts  have  preserved  the  form  and  features  of  the 
great  and  good,  who  thus  live  on  canvas  and  in  marble. 
Churches  and  galleries  and  parks  are  made  luminous  with 
these  memorials.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  set  up  a  stone  to  the 


MRS.  DOREMUS.  51 

praise  of  virtue,  that  it  may,  though  dead,  continue  to  speak. 
It  is  no  waste  of  ointment  to  pour  it  on  the  Master's  feet, 
though  it  might  have  been  sold  for  the  poor :  for  it  is  to  be 
always  a  memorial  of  holy  love.  So  it  would  be  well  if  the 
women,  and  the  men  likewise,  would  cause  to  be  made  a 
statue  in  the  form  and  likeness  of  our  friend  Mrs.  Doremus, 
of  the  purest,  whitest  marble,  bending  beneath  the  weight 
of  years  and  many  loads  of  care,  faint  yet  pursuing,  the  image 
of  the  heavenly  shining  on  her  seraphic  brow.  Such  a 
statue  is  due  to  her  who  fulfilled  every  trust  and  mission  God 
ever  gave  to  woman,  and,  by  what  she  was,  taught  us  what 
woman  ought  to  be. 

Such  a  statue,  in  the  vestibule  of  the  Woman's  Hospital, 
would  be  a  monument  to  the  sex  she  adorned  :  for  she  was  a 
type  and  example  of  what  woman  is  when  she  makes  real  in 
her  life-work  the  conception  of  Him  who  created  her  in  his 
own  image.  The  money  it  would  cost  would  be  worthily  ex 
pended,  for  in  all  time  to  come  it  would  testify  to  the  power 
and  the  beauty  of  one  who  was  spent  for  Christ  and  his. 

I  have  looked  with  silent  admiration  on  the  statues  of 
great  men  and  fair  women  that  make  beauteous  the  palaces 
of  art  in  the  old  world :  where  ancient  civilizations  and  ex 
tinct  mythologies  have  been  preserved  in  their  highest  con 
ceptions  of  what  is  had  in  reverence  and  love :  I  have  read 
in  story  and  song  of  the  ideal  of  genius, 

4 '  A  creature  not  too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food  : 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength  and  skill, 
A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort  and  command  ;" 

but  I  never  found  in  marble,  or  canvas,  or  history,  or  poetry, 
one  that  embodied  the  idea  of  useftdness  so  perfectly  as  it  was 
presented  in  the  life-work  of  our  sainted  friend. 

It  is  well  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  such  a  woman. 
But  whether  we  build  a  monument  or  carve  her  form  in 
stone,  her  record  is  on  high,  and  in  the  hearts  of  thousands 
and  the  history  of  the  Church  her  memory  will  never  die. 


52  IREN^US  LETTERS. 


THE  BEAR  IN   BOSTON. 

On  Christmas  Day  the  children  of  the  Sabbath-school 
being  gathered  to  sing  their  hymns,  receive  their  gifts,  and 
hear  a  few  speeches,  I  was  called  on  to  say  something,  and 
this  was  what  came  of  it. 

Since  we  were  last  in  this  place  to  celebrate  our  Christmas 
festival,  a  bear  died  in  Boston.  If  it  seems  strange  to  you 
that  I  mention  this  fact  to-day,  and  you  see  no  bearing  that 
it  has  on  the  subject  before  us,  bear  with  me  a  little  and  you 
shall  see  and  hear. 

You  have  all  come  here  from  homes  that  ought  to  be 
happy,  where  your  parents  have  tried  to  please  you  by  mak 
ing  Christmas  merry,  and  loading  you  with  good  things. 
They  care  for  you,  feed  and  clothe  you,  pray  for  you,  and 
deserve  your  respect,  obedience,  and  love.  But  there  are 
many  families,  yours  may  be  of  the  number,  where  the  chil 
dren  are  disobedient,  disrespectful  to  their  parents,  and  un 
lovely,  and  it  is  of  this  sin  of  the  young  that  I  am  to  speak 
to  you,  taking  for  my  text 

THE  BEAR  THAT  DIED  IN   BOSTON. 

It  was  a  private  bear.  His  owner  was  a  gentleman  who 
took  a  fancy  to  such  a  pet,  and  when  his  favorite  died,  he 
determined  to  bury  the  bear  with  respect.  Boston  is  in  ad 
vance  of  us  in  many  things.  We  never  have  yet  had  a  funeral 
for  a  bear  in  this  city,  but  the  proprietor  of  this  Boston  bear 
invited  the  wise  men  of  the  town  to  assemble  and  assist  at 
the  burial  of  his  dead  friend.  Among  the  poets,  philoso 
phers,  and  philanthropists  who  abound  in  Boston  was  Dr. 
Holmes,  a  celebrated  physician  and  wit,  who  was  invited, 
and  he  replied  to  the  note  of  invitation  that  "he  was  sorry 
he  could  not  attend  :  for  ever  since  he  read  in  his  youth  of 
the  bears  of  Bethel,  who  taught  the  children  to  respect  old 
age,  he  had  had  great  respect  for  bears  as  moral  instructors ; 
and  he  thought  if  one  were  employed  to  go  about  Boston 


THE  BEAR  IN  BOSTON.  53 

and  its  suburbs  for  the  same  purpose,  the  effect  would  be 
salutary  upon  the  youthful  population." 

It  is  my  belief  if  one  bear  would  be  good  in  Boston  to 
teach  the  children  respect  for  their  parents  and  older  people 
generally,  a  dozen  bears  might  be  usefully  employed  in  New 
York  and  its  vicinity  in  giving  lessons  to  our  irreverent 
youth.  You  remember  the  bears  of  Bethel  to  which  Dr. 
Holmes  referred,  the  bears  whose  moral  forces  produced  such 
lasting  impressions  upon  his  early  mind.  The  naughty  chil 
dren  in  the  days  of  Elisha  saw  the  good  prophet  going  along 
the  way,  and  they  mocked  him,  made  fun  of  him  and  of  his 
bald  head,  when  two  bears  came  out  of  the  woods  and  tore 
more  than  forty  of  them.  But  our  boys  are  not  afraid  of 
bears.  I  have  heard  of  one  boy  who  made  mock  of  an  old 
gentleman  in  the  streets,  and  then,  jumping  behind  a  bale  of 
goods,  put  out  his  head  and  called  aloud,  "  Now  bring  on 
your  bears."  What  a  wicked  boy ! 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  such  insults  to  the  old  that  young 
America  shows  his  disrespect.  There  are  thousands  of  boys 
and  girls  in  this  city  who  call  their  father  "  the  old  man,"  and 
their  mother  "  the  old  woman  :"  boys  and  girls  of  twelve  or 
fifteen  years,  who  think  they  are  wiser  than  the  parents,  and 
insist  upon  going  when  and  where  they  please;  who  will 
have  the  kind  of  dress,  and  just  such  a  hat  or  bonnet,  and 
just  such  company,  and  such  amusements  as  they  please ; 
and  they  will  worry  or  badger  their  parents  till  they  get  what 
they  want.  And  this  disobedience  is  not  confined  to  the 
city;  it  is  almost  as  common  in  the  country,  and  all  the 
country  over :  it  is  the  vice  of  the  age,  and  the  parent  of 
many  vices.  A  gentleman  riding  in  the  country  heard  a  man 
calling  to  his  son  to  come  into  the  house,  and  as  the  boy  paid 
no  attention  to  the  call,  the  traveller  stopped  and  asked  the 
lad  if  he  heard  his  father  calling.  "  Oh  !  y-a-a-s,"  replied  the 
youth,  "but  I  don't  mind  what  he  says.  Mother  don't 
neither ;  and  'twixt  us  both,  we've  about  got  the  dog  so  he 
don't." 

All  over  the  land  it  is  the  same  thing.  Children  and  young 
people  are  less  mindiul  ol  their  manners  towards  the  old 


54  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

than  they  once  were.  I  asked  a  boy  the  other  day  in  one  of 
the  street  cars  to  rise  and  give  his  seat  to  a  lady,  and  he  an 
swered,  "  Five  cents  is  jist  as  good  for  me  as  her,  let  her 
stand."  Manners  are  not  as  they  once  were,  at  home  or  on 
the  street.  And  from  disobedience  to  parents  comes  disre 
gard  of  law  and  order ;  then  comes  crime  and  punishment. 
The  fifth  commandment  is  a  promise  of  long  life  to  them 
that  honor  their  parents :  for  the  child  who  refuses  to  obey 
his  father  or  mother,  begins  vice  early,  is  likely  to  go  on  from 
bad  to  worse,  and  it  is  not  strange  if  he  comes  to  some  bad 
end.  Many  a  man  under  the  gallows  has  traced  his  career 
of  crime  back  to  the  time  when  he  refused  to  submit  to  his 
father's  will. 

When  I  was  travelling  in  the  East,  I  saw  near  many  large 
towns  a  pit  or  valley  where  the  carcases  of  dead  beasts  were 
cast,  and  there  came  the  birds  of  prey  and  feasted  upon 
the  carrion.  In  ancient  times,  if  not  now,  the  bodies  of  men 
put  to  death  for  crime  were  thrown  out  into  the  same  place 
to  be  devoured.  And  then  I  understood  the  terrible  mean 
ing  of  that  strange  passage  in  the  Book  of  Proverbs  : 

"The  eye  that  mocketh  at  his  father  and  despiseth  to 
obey  his  mother,  the  ravens  of  the  valley  shall  pick  it  out, 
and  the  young  eagles  shall  eat  it." 

These  birds  of  prey  may  not,  will  not,  indeed,  come  down 
to  tear  out  the  eyes  of  children  in  the  streets,  but  the  child 
who  begins  when  young  to  despise  the  counsels  and  com 
mands  of  his  or  her  parents,  is  in  the  bad  broad  way  that 
leads  to  destruction. 

Now  in  the  morning  of  life,  while  home  is  happy  and  par 
ents  are  dear  to  you,  and  Christmas  presents  are  in  heaps 
around  you,  love,  honor,  and  obey  those  who  are  so  good  to 
you.  So  shall  it  be  well  with  you  all  the  days  of  your  life, 
and  each  year  shall  be  happier  than  the  one  before. 


IT'S  HIS  WA  y.  55 

IT'S  HIS  WAY. 

"  It  must  be  right ;  I've  done  it  from  my  youth." 

— Crabbe. 

My  friend  was  defending  the  conduct  of  a  man  whom  I 
had  censured  with  some  severity. 

"  O  it's  his  way.  You  mustn't  be  hard  on  him.  He  is 
not  to  be  judged  by  the  same  rules  that  other  men  are. 
You  know  there  was  always  a  queer  streak  in  him,  and  in 
deed  it  runs  through  the  family:  they  are  all  queer:  you 
must  overlook  some  things  in  them  that  would  not  be  put 
up  with  in  other  people." 

This  talk  may  savor  of  the  charity  that  covers  a  multitude 
of  sins,  but  its  does  not  make  the  sins  any  the  less,  nor  the 
sinner  more  excusable  in  the  sight  of  God  and  all  right- 
thinking  people. 

There  is  a  way  that  seems  right  to  a  man,  and  perhaps  to 
some  of  his  friends  as  well-,  but  it  is  wrong,  nevertheless, 
and  there  is  a  terrible  hell  at  the  end  of  it.  When  you 
come  to  morals,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  code  of  right  and 
wrong  for  one  man  and  not  for  another.  There  are  degrees 
of  light,  and  capacity,  and  opportunity,  and  we  must  not 
measure  all  men  by  the  same  standard  to  determine  the 
amount  of  blame  or  praise  to  which  they  are  entitled.  It 
is  required  of  a  man  according  to  what  he  hath.  Unto 
whom  much  is  given  of  him  much  is  required.  And  vice 
•versa.  But  to  every  man  unto  whom  the  light  of  divine 
truth  has  come,  the  standard  of  right  and  wrong  is  the  same ; 
and  nobody,  however  great  or  small,  shall  escape  his  re 
sponsibility  for  wrong  by  the  plea,  "  It's  my  way,  and  you 
mustn't  mind  it." 

Yet  you  have  often  heard  this  plea  set  up  in  defence  of 
public  men,  and  private  Christians,  whose  ways  are  so  out  of 
the  common,  so  repugnant  to  good  morals,  that  they  would 
be  condemned  without  mercy  if  their  offence  had  just  once 
come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  world,  but  they  are  pardoned 
and  rather  petted  and  liked  for  their  boldness  and  eccen- 


5  6  tRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

tricity,  if  they  put  a  fair  face  on  it  and  keep  on  until  people 
say  "  It's  their  way." 

In  reply  to  my  friend's  remark,  I  said:  "Suppose,  now, 
that  the  Rev.  Dr.  A.,  or  Judge  B.,  or  Gen.  C.  had  done  the 
very  same  things  that  are  not  only  charged  upon  your  man, 
but  are  admitted  on  all  hands  to  have  been  done  by  him, 
and  are  justified  by  him  and  gloried  in,  what  would  you 
say  ?  Would  you  palliate  their  conduct  ?  Would  you  still 
respect  them  as  honorable,  honest,  and  good  men?  Or 
would  you  turn  upon  them  as  wrong-doers,  the  more  worthy 
of  contempt  and  condemnation  because  of  their  position, 
knowledge,  and  power  ?" 

He  owned  up  to  the  force  of  the  argument,  and  fell  back 
on  his  first  principle.  "Yes,  yes:  that's  all  true,  but  all  men 
are  not  alike,  and  that's  his  way:  he  doesn't  mean  to  do 
wrong." 

One  of  my  neighbors  was  telling  me  about  his  minister : 
said  he,  "  I  like  his  preaching,  but  his  manner  of  doing  it  is 
awful.  He  has  no  ease,  no  grace,  no  dignity :  he  makes  wry 
faces,  and  awkward  gestures,  and  acts  all  the  time  as  if  some 
thing  was  hurting  him.  But  then  '  it's  his  way.'  "  Certainly 
it  is,  and  a  very  bad  way,  too.  It  hinders  and  harms  his 
usefulness :  takes  away  from  the  force  of  the  truth :  pains 
the  hearer  when  he  ought  to  be  attracted ;  and  so  the  Word, 
even  the  Word  of  God,  is  made  of  none  effect.  He  has 
been  taught  better,  and  is  yet  so  young  that  he  might  cure 
himself  of  these  disagreeable  habits  that  have  become  so 
characteristic  as  to  be  called  his.  But  he  himself  thinks 
they  are  his  -ways,  and  therefore  innocent  and  rather  great. 

Dr.  Johnson  was  a  bear  among  men  and  women,  his 
manners  intolerable  and  his  speech  outrageous.  It  was 
allowed  and  even  enjoyed,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  "  his 
way."  But  that  made  it  no  more  decent.  And  no  amount 
of  genius  or  learning  will  justify  a  man  among  men  in 
failing  to  be  a  gentleman. 

All  peculiarities  are  not  to  be  found  fault  with.  Far 
from  it.  Every  man  has  a  way  of  his  own,  as  his  face 
and  walk  and  voice  are  unlike  every  other  face  and  walk 


IT'S  HIS  WAY.  57 

and  voice.  To  be  distinguished  for  virtues  is  itself  a  virtue. 
Dr.  Cox  was  told  that  Calvin  Colton  said  of  him, 

"  If  it  were  not  for  his  Coxisms,  Dr.  Cox  would  be  a 
great  man." 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Cox,  "he  might  have  been  Calvin  Colton." 

Learning,  wit,  goodness,  every  good,  may  adorn  and  illus 
trate  a  man's  life,  and  the  more  of  such  ways  a  man  has 
the  better  for  the  world  he  lives  in,  his  age,  his  country,  the 
Church,  and  the  kingdom  of  God.  But  it  sadly  happens  for 
the  most  part  that  we  speak  of  "his  way"  or  "my  way"  as 
an  excuse  for  something  that  might  be  better. 

Mr.  D.  comes  home  from  his  day's  work  weary  and  hungry, 
and  therefore  (he  thinks  it  is  therefore)  cross.  He  makes 
himself  specially  unpleasant  to  the  little  family  whom  he 
ought  to  brighten  and  bless  by  words  of  cheer  and  love. 
But  "  his  ways"  are  not  ways  of  pleasantness.  And  so  it 
comes  to  pass  that  his  paths  are  not  the  paths  of  peace. 
For  as  iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  one  cross  man  in  a  house 
crosses  all  the  rest,  and  he  gets  as  good  as  he  gives.  Like 
begets  like.  The  savor  of  his  presence  while  the  mood  is 
on  him  spreads  a  pall  on  the  spirits  of  the  household ;  cold 
ness,  petulance,  and  general  discomfort  reign.  Over  the 
evening  meal  he  thaws  and  melts  and  the  better  nature 
flows :  the  children  catch  the  returning  tide  and  begin  to 
play  in  it :  the  man  is  himself  again  and  the  house  is  glad. 
It  is  "  his  way"  to  be  out  of  sorts  when  he  comes  home. 
And  it  is  a  bad  way,  a  mean  way,  a  wicked  way,  and  he  ought 
to  repent  of  it  and  be  reformed. 

I  never  heard  Mr.  E.  (a  man  whose  company  I  am  often 
in)  speak  well  of  anybody  but  himself.  His  rule  is :  "  If  you 
can't  say  something  ill  of  a  man,  say  nothing."  That's  his 
way.  He  goes  on  the  principle  that  if  a  cause  is  good,  or 
a  man  is  good,  or  a  woman  is  all  right,  there's  no  need  of 
talking  about  it,  him  or  her;  but  if  there  is  a  screw  loose,  or 
room  for  improvement,  or  danger  of  going  wrong,  it  is  best 
to  say  so,  and  so  make  it  better.  And  on  this  ground  he 
finds  fault  with  everything.  He  is  a  pessimist.  The  worst 
side  of  everybody  is  before  his  eye.  The  spots  on  the  sun 


5  8  I  REN ^E  US  LETTERS. 

fix  his  attention.  No  sermon  ever  satisfied  his  mind  or 
escaped  his  criticism.  The  newspaper  he  enjoys  in  exact 
proportion  to  the  number  of  mistakes  he  finds  in  it.  Society 
is  out  of  joint,  in  his  judgment.  Nobody  knows  how  to  do 
anything  as  it  ought  to  be  done.  If  they  would  only  let  him 
run  things  for  a  while,  he  would  show  them  how  to  do  it. 
He  is  disgusted  generally,  and  takes  pains  to  say  so.  This 
is  his  way. 

And  it  is  just  about  the  most  disagreeable  way  a  man  can 
have.  He  forgets  that  other  people  are  annoyed  by  his  in 
cessant  grumbling ;  that  most  people  love  to  take  cheerful 
views  of  things,  to  look  on  the  bright  side,  to  hope  for  the 
best,  to  find  good  even  in  the  midst  of  evil,  and  to  try  to  im 
prove  what  can  be  mended,  and  not  to  fret  about  what  can't 
be  helped.  Mr.  E.  often  comes  into  my  office  and  wants  me 
to  "come  down  on"  this  man  and  that  society 'and  cause ;  and 
he  thinks  I  am  timid  and  time-serving  because  I  will  not  let 
him  swing  his  whip  over  the  backs  of  all  the  saints  and  re 
form  them,  as  he  thinks,  into  necessary  righteousness.  He  is 
the  most  unsanctified  friend  I  have,  and  yet  he  thinks  all  the 
rest  wrong  and  himself  about  right.  I  have  no  fear  of  offend 
ing  him  by  saying  this,  for  his  self-righteousness  renders  him 
all  unconscious  of  his  sinful  infirmity,  and  the  first  time  I  see 
him  he  will  thank  me  "for  giving  it  to  those  everlasting 
faultfinders." 

"  Mark  the  perfect  man."  Would  that  we  might  have  a 
chance.  There  was  one.  No  guile  was  ever  found  in  his 
mouth.  He  was  meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  the  lion  also 
of  his  tribe.  He  loved  those  who  hated  him.  He  gave  his 
life  for  others.  His  way  was  like  the  going  forth  of  the  sun. 
And  all  the  nations  are  blessed  in  him.  His  friends  never 
had  to  make  an  apology  for  him.  His  judge  could  find  no 
fault  in  him.  His  ways  were  not  offensive  to  any  good 
people.  And  he  was  lifted  up  to  draw  all  men  unto  him. 

So,  my  friend,  bear  in  mind  when  you  say,  in  defence  of  a 
habit,  "  It's  my  way,"  or  "  It's  his  way,"  the  strong  presump 
tion  is — it's  a  bad  way. 


A   PASTOR  AND   FRIEND.  59 


A  PASTOR  AND  FRIEND. 

When  the  Rev.  Dr.  Dickinson,  first  President  of  Prince 
ton  College,  was  on  his  death-bed,  the  rector  of  the  Episco 
pal  church  in  the  village  (they  were  in  Elizabethtown)  was  also 
dying.  The  President  was  first  released,  and  when  the  rec 
tor  was  told  that  his  friend  and  neighbor  had  gone,  he  ex 
claimed,  "  O  that  I  had  hold  of  his  skirts." 

This  was  the  thought  of  Elisha  when  the  other  prophet 
went  up. 

It  was  my  first  desire  when  I  heard  that  my  old  friend  Dr. 
Brinsmade,  of  Newark,  had  been  suddenly  translated.  Eighty 
years  old :  full  of  years,  full  of  grace,  with  his  arms  full  of 
sheaves,  rejoicing  in  the  Lord :  he  was  not,  for  God  took 
him. 

What  a  tide  of  emotion  rushed  in  as  I  remembered  the 
years  of  our  daily  companionship,  while  he  was  pastor  and  I 
led  the  Sabbath-school.  The  friendship  was  warm,  tender 
and  holy ;  as  free  from  dross  as  human  friendship  can  be ; 
cemented  by  the  common  love  we  had  for  Christ,  His  Church, 
and  especially  the  lambs  of  His  flock.  For  them  we  labored 
hand  in  hand,  and  great  was  our  joy  and  reward. 

You  will  be  interested  in  some  of  the  recollections  I  have 
of  this  dear  good  man.  Perhaps  you  will  be  profited  as  well 
as  interested.  At  any  rate,  the  hour  I  spend  in  writing  of 
him  will  be  "  privileged  beyond  the  common  walks  of  life, 
quite  in  the  verge  of  heaven."  For  as  I  sit  in  my  silent  study, 
in  the  still  night,  and  the  fire  burns  low,  and  the  city  itself  is 
asleep  around  me,  I  call  up  the  memories  of  my  departed 
friend,  and  even  now,  this  minute,  it  seems  as  though  he 
might  step  in  as  he  was  wont  to  every  day  what  time  he  was 
in  the  flesh,  and  had  not  yet  ascended  to  his  Father  and  my 
Father. 

And  that  reminds  me  of  one  interview  in  the  study  :  to  tell 
of  it  will  be  the  shortest  way  to  discover  the  calm,  equable, 
trustful  nature  of  the  man. 

Facts  had  come  to  my  knowledge,  very  painful,  and  per- 


60  tREN^US  LETTERS. 


sonally  to  him  distressing,  which  he  ought  to  know,  and 
which  it  became  my  duty  to  impart  to  him.  I  evaded  and 
avoided  the  unpleasant  task,  until  a  sense  of  duty  overcame  : 
and  when  he  came  to  my  study  in  the  evening,  I  went  at  it 
with  protracted  circumlocution,  and  after  a  tedious  introduc 
tion  managed  at  last  to  lay  the  skeleton  at  his  feet.  Then  I 
paused,  expecting  to  hear  some  pious  ejaculation  like  a  prayer 
for  help  :  but,  to  my  relief  and  surprise,  he  simply  said  : 

"  Well,  I  have  long  since  made  up  my  mind  not  to  expend 
emotion  on  what  cannot  be  helped.'' 

That  sentence  has  been  like  a  proverb  with  me  ever  since. 
It  is  only  a  paraphrase  of  the  adage,  "  What  can't  be  cured, 
must  be  endured."  But  it  has  a  little  more  philosophy  in  it, 
and  means  "  don't  fret  :  there  are  two  things  never  to  be  wor 
ried  about  :  things  that  can  be  helped,  and  things  that  can't 
be  helped.  If  you  can  cure  them,  do  so  and  don't  fret  :  if 
you  can't  cure  them,  fretting  only  makes  matters  worse." 
This  is  philosophy,  Grace  comes  in  and  says:  "Your 
heavenly  Father  careth  for  these  things  :  his  will  is  wise  and 
kind  :  let  not  your  heart  be  troubled." 

We  never  made  allusion  to  the  matter  again.  It  was  as 
though  the  skeleton  were  buried  in  the  darkness  of  that 
night,  and  its  burial-place  were  not  known. 

Eighty  years!  Fourscore  years  of  usefulnesss,  devotion, 
holy  living  and  active  Christian  benevolence.  For,  like  his 
Master,  he  went  about  doing  good.  His  power  in  the  minis 
try  was  in  pastoral  work.  It  is  not  probable  that  any  church 
ever  had  a  pastor  more  nearly  perfect  than  he.  He  was  a 
good,  not  a  great  preacher,  except  as  goodness  is  often  the 
greats/  greatness.  Warm,  earnest,  drenched  with  Scripture, 
and  rich  Christian  experience,  his  sermons  were  poured  forth 
from  a  heart  full  of  tenderness  and  love,  so  that  every  hearer 
knew  the  preacher  yearned  to  do  him  good. 

Himself  a  disciple  in  the  school  of  suffering,  taught  by  the 
Man  of  Sorrows,  he  was  a  son  of  consolation  to  them  who 
mourned.  In  every  household  of  his  charge  he  ministered  in 
affliction,  and  his  people,  especially  the  children  of  his  peo 
ple,  died  in  his  arms.  Just  here  I  could  speak  of  scenes  that 


A   PASTOR  AND  FRIEND.  6 1 

he  and  I  will  talk  over  together,  when  we  and  ours  are  sitting 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  that  flows  from  the  throne  of  the 
Lamb  !  Hallowed  memories !  Tears  thirty  years  ago  now 
flowing  again,  while  his  are  all  wiped  away  by  the  hand  of 
Infinite  Love  ! 

It  is  not  weakness  to  weep  when  these  memories  come, 
and  little  fingers  of  the  long-ago-lost  fondly  play  with  our 
heart-strings  in  the  night  watches.  Jesus  wept.  And  he 
wept  by  the  grave  of  one  he  loved.  I  would  be  like  my 
Lord,  and  if  I  may  not  resemble  him  in  aught  else,  let  them 
say  of  me,  as  they  said  of  Jesus,  "  Behold,  how  he  loved 
him." 

Children  would  stop  in  their  play  to  take  his  hand  as  he 
passed  along  the  street.  And  there  is  nothing  in  the  descrip 
tion  of  the  village  pastor  of  Goldsmith  more  beautiful  than  was 
daily  revealed  in  the  walk  and  conversation  of  this  good  shep 
herd.  He  was  able  to  give  money  to  those  who  had  need  of 
it,  for  his  own  habits  were  exceedingly  simple,  almost  severe, 
and  his  income  ample.  It  was  freely  spent  upon  the  poor  in 
his  own  flock,  and  in  the  ends  of  the  world.  The  father  of 
many  orphans,  he  was  as  the  Lord  is  to  them  whom  father 
and  mother  had  left  behind  when  going  home  to  heaven. 

So  have  I  seen  a  peaceful  meadow  stream  winding  its  way 
among  green  fields,  and  trees  planted  by  the  water-course; 
verdure  and  flower  and  fruit  revealing  its  life-giving  power. 
It  made  no  noise.  It  was  often  hid  from  sight  by  the  wealth 
of  overhanging  branches  :  but  it  was  a  river  of  water  of  life 
to  the  valley  it  blessed.  Like  unto  such  a  stream  is  the  life 
of  my  departed  friend.  This  day  the  garden  of  the  Lord  is 
glad  for  him  :  his  whole  course  of  80  years  may  be  traced  by 
the  fruit  and  flower  and  joy  which  rose  into  being  along  his 
path.  He  did  not  strive  nor  cry,  his  voice  was  not  heard  in 
the  streets.  Others  were  more  gifted  with  golden  speech, 
and  had  wider  fame  among  men.  But  no  minister  of  our 
day  has  been  an  angel  of  mercy  to  more  hearts :  none  is 
wept  by  more  whom  he  comforted  :  none  has  been  welcomed 
by  a  goodlier  company  of  saints  whom  he  saved,  and  of 
them  whose  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father. 


62  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

How  better  to  be  good  than  to  be  great !    How  much 
greater  than  greatness  goodness  is ! 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  YEAR. 

"  I  saw  a  vision  in  my  sleep, 
That  gave  my  spirit  strength  to  sweep 
Adown  the  gulf  of  Time !" 

— T.  Campbell. 

We  have  more  dreams  awake  than  when  we  sleep.  A 
large  part  of  every  one's  life  is  passed  amid  "the  stuff  that 
dreams  are  made  of."  At  times  we  hardly  know  whether  we 
have  been  asleep  or  not,  a  vision  of  past  and  future  appears — 
and  then  vanishes  away. 

It  was  in  one  of  those  moods  between  waking  and  sleep 
ing,  before  rising  on  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  year, 
that  this  vision  passed  before  me,  with  all  the  vividness  of 
the  sun,  and  left  its  impress  so  that  I  can  tell  you  what  I  saw 
and  heard. 

I  was  walking  on  the  bank  of  a  deep,  broad,  silent  river, 
flowing  onward  toward  the  sea.  The  stream  was  cov 
ered  with  vessels  of  various  names  and  rig;  all  going  with 
the  current ;  making  progress,  some  more,  some  less,  but  all 
getting  on.  Some  of  these  ships  were  so  near  me  that  I 
could  see  the  men  on  board,  and  with  a  little  care  I  could  dis 
cover  the  work  that  each  was  set  to  do,  from  the  master  to 
the  cabin  boy.  There  was  enough  for  all,  and  each  vessel 
kept  on  its  own  course,  when  every  man  did  his  own  work, 
faithfully  and  well.  There  was  some  bad  steering  and  slov 
enly  handling  the  sails,  and  here  and  there  a  captain  was  tipsy 
and  things  were  out  of  sorts,  and  one  ship  would  run  into 
another  or  get  aground ;  and  I  saw  that  the  neglect  of  any 
one  to  do  his  duty,  made  mischief  that  brought  trouble  to  all 
on  board. 

Before  me  in  the  path  stood  a  man  whose  white  hair  and 


A   DREAM  OF   THE    YEAR.  63 

wrinkles  told  me  of  his  great  age,  and  even  if  he  had  not 
carried  a  scythe  over  his  shoulder,  I  would  easily  have 
known  him  as  Father  Time.  He  said  to  me  in  firm  and  man 
ly  tones : 

"  Whither  goest  thou  ?" 

"With  the  current,"  I  replied;  "all  things  seem  tending 
to  the  sea :  some  go  by  water,  some  by  land,  and  I  suppose 
we  are  all  going  the  same  way." 

"  Turn,"  he  said,  "  and  go  back  with  me,  on  the  path  thou 
hast  travelled." 

We  reversed  our  steps,  and  he  spoke  to  me  of  the  path  of 
human  life :  it  is  often  called  a  journey,  a  pilgrimage :  but  it 
should  rather  be  spoken  of  as  a  place,  a  house,  a  field,  a  bat 
tle,  a  service ;  he  said  it  was  wrong  to  think  of  life  as  a  sort 
of  space  or  distance  between  two  goals :  a  race  to  be  run  and 
then  over :  a  voyage  to  be  made  and  then  the  port  to  be  en 
joyed  :  and  as  we  walked  side  by  side  he  discoursed  to  me  of 
the  duties  of  life,  of  the  works  that  each  man  has  to  do,  and 
neglecting  which,  he  makes  a  failure.  We  came,  in  our  walk, 
upon  wrecks  of  vessels  stranded  and  rotten  on  the  shore : 
by  the  side  of  the  pathway,  and  now  and  then  in  the  very 
road  itself,  were  the  remnants  of  broken  engines,  and  the 
scattered  members  of  beautiful  machinery  and  the  bones  of 
human  beings  lying  in  the  grass  by  the  wayside.  Puzzled 
with  the  sight  of  these  things,  not  one  of  which  I  had  noticed 
when  pursuing  my  journey  alone  and  with  the  current  of  the 
stream,  I  looked  up  with  wonder  to  my  patriarchal  guide 
and  asked : 

"What  are  these  wrecks  that  strew  the  road  ?" 

"Losx  OPPORTUNITIES,"  were  the  only  words  that  fell 
from  his  lips,  but  they  fell  as  from  out  of  the  sky,  so  far  off 
and  so  solemn  did  they  sound  in  my  ear.  I  was  silent,  awe 
struck,  and  anxious,  for  a  faint  suspicion  came  to  my  mind 
that  this  was  in  part  my  work,  and  these  ruins  were  memorials 
of  my  neglect,  if  nothing  worse.  And  I  repeated  his  words 
in  a  tone  of  respectful  inquiry  : 

"  Lost  opportunities  ?  Whose  and  what,  tell  me,  my  coun 
sellor  and  friend." 


64  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

He  paused  in  his  walk,  and  removing  from  his  shoulder  the 
scythe,  he  rested  on  it,  and  began : 

"We  have  gone  back  far  enough  to  learn  the  lesson  of 
the  day.  The  distance  we  have  walked  is  in  time  ONE  YEAR. 
The  wrecks  and  ruins  we  have  passed,  and  those  now  in 
sight,  are  the  resolutions  made,  the  purposes  formed,  the 
works  begun,  the  chances  enjoyed,  the  means  neglected,  the 
mischief  done,  deeds  left  unfinished,  friendships  lost,  Sabbaths 
spoiled,  months  run  to  waste,  weeks  fruitless,  days  idled 
away,  hours  spent  in  vain :  each  one  of  these  lost  opportuni 
ties  is  a  wreck  and  skeleton  on  the  pathway  of  thy  existence. 
Hadst  thou  done  thy  whole  duty  in  this  one  year  over  which 
we  have  walked,  this  shattered  frame,  now  helplessly  ruined, 
would  have  been  in  beautiful  operation,  working  out  a  noble 
mission  fof  the  good  of  man.  Hadst  thou  stretched  out  a 
hand  to  save  this  struggling  fellow-man,  or  let  him  lean  on 
thy  shoulder,  when  he  was  weak  and  thou  strong  for  the 
struggle  of  life,  he  would  now  be  by  thy  side,  or  if  left  behind 
would  be  praying  for  thee,  as  he  pressed  on  toward  the 
mark.  You  have  done  well  for  yourself,  but  no  man  liveth 
to  himself,  if  he  live  rightly.  You  may  make  a  long  journey 
and  at  last  rest  from  your  labors,  but  you  will  never  forget 
these  memorials  of  lost  opportunities  that  now  cry  to  thee 
from  the  ground." 

I  was  cut  to  the  heart  by  these  words  of  reproof,  and  in 
my  remorse,  perhaps  inspired  by  that  terrible  allusion  to  the 
death  of  Abel,  I  exclaimed,  "AM  I  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER?" 

"  Certainly  thou  art,"  he  said,  with  a  calmness  that  was 
more  severe  in  contrast  with  the  earnestness  of  my  cry. 
"  The  whole  world  is  kin,  and  thy  brother  is  he  unto  whom 
thou  canst  do  a  good  turn,  as  both  pursue  the  journey  of 
life.  All  are  parts  of  one  great  whole :  members  of  a  large 
family  :  the  strong  must  bear  the  burdens  of  the  weak  :  the 
tempted  are  to  be  shielded :  they  that  are  out  of  the  way  are 
to  be  reclaimed  :  the  sinning,  yes,  the  very  wicked,  are  to  be 
sought  and  saved." 

"  And  shall  I  have  one  more  year  in  which  to  repent  me  of 
the  past  and  to  do  works  meet  for  repentance  ?" 


A   DREAM  OF   THE    YEAR.  65 

And  old  Father  Time  shouldered  his  scythe,  turned  him 
self  about,  took  me  by  the  hand  and  said,  softly,  "That  is 
not  for  thee  or  me  to  know.  Thy  times  are  in  the  hands  of 
Him  who  gave  thee  life  and  opportunities.  The  Present  is 
thine,  and  of  that  only  art  thou  sure.  Improve  the  present. 
With  thy  might  do  what  thy  hand  findeth  to  do.  To-mor 
row  never  is.  Yesterday  is  gone  forever.  Now  is  the  accept 
ed  time :  behold  now  is  the  day  of  salvation." 

He  was  gone,  scythe  and  all :  his  snow-white  beard  still 
shone  in  my  mind,  but  the  vision  was  past,  the  sunlight  was 
piercing  the  crevices  of  the  window-blinds,  and  the  shout 
of  "  Happy  New  Year "  announced  the  advent  of  another 
morn. 

But  it  was  not  all  a  dream.  The  river  flows  toward  the 
sea.  The  vessels,  with  their  freight  and  the  sailors,  are  borne 
onward.  This  pathway  is  thronged  with  travellers,  brothers 
and  sisters  all.  The  year  is  to  be  full  of  opportunities,  golden 
opportunities,  to  be  useful.  In  the  household  lie  the  best  and 
holiest  duties  to  be  done.  A  cheerful  heart,  and  voice,  and 
countenance,  an  open  hand,  a  word  of  blessing  when  another's 
heart  is  weary  or  in  pain,  the  thousand  little  tender  services, 
too  small  to  have  a  name,  precious  in  the  eyes  of  love,  are 
noted  in  the  book  that  records  each  cup  of  cold  water  a  child 
of  Christ  receives. 


By  this  time  the  uproar  was  too  great  for  dozing  or  medi 
tation,  and  changing  the  robes  of  night  for  those  of  day,  we 
were  soon  amid  the  gladdest  scenes  of  the  year.  Let  us 
hope  that  it  will  be  ended  as  happily  as  it  begins. 


66  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


DR.  SPRING'S  PREDICTION. 

At  the  funeral  of  a  distinguished  citizen  of  New  York,  a 
large  number  of  the  clergy  were  present  by  special  invitation 
The  late  Rev.  Dr.  Spring,  pastor  of  the  Brick  Church,  was 
one  who  bore  a  part  in  the  service.  As  we  were  leaving  the 
house  to  enter  the  carriages  in  waiting,  he  took  my  arm,  for 
his  eyes  were  dim  and  his  steps  uncertain.  I  assisted  him 
into  the  carriage,  and  Dr.  De  Witt  took  a  seat  by  his  side. 
Dr.  Vermilye  entered  also,  and  I  was  shutting  the  door  when 
one  of  them  bade  me  come  in.  I  said,  "  No,  my  place  is 
with  the  younger  brethren."  This  was  speedily  overruled, 
and  I  was  seated  with  these  Fathers  of  the  Church.  As  the 
procession  moved,  Dr.  Vermilye  said  to  me  :  "  You  declined 
our  company  because  of  your  youth ;  pray,  how  old  art 
thou  ?" 

I  answered  :  "  I  am  FIFTY-ONE  :  and  you  ?" 

Dr.  V.  responded,  "  SIXTY-ONE." 

We  turned  to  Dr.  De  Witt  and  begged  to  know  his  age, 
and  he  said,  "  I  am  SEVENTY-ONE. 

It  was  now  the  patriarch's  turn  to  speak ;  we  looked  our 
desires  to  Dr.  Spring,  and  he  answered :  "  If  I  live  until  Feb 
ruary  next,  I  shall  be  EIGHTY-ONE." 

Perhaps  a  more  extraordinary  coincidence  in  ages  was 
never  ascertained  :  four  men  finding  themselves  in  the  same 
carriage,  with  a  decade  between  the  years  of  their  birth  :  now 
all  of  them  beyond  the  half  century,  and  ascending  by  tens 
to  fourscore.  The  conversation  that  ensued  was  naturally 
suggested  by  the  discovery  we  had  made,  and  by  the  associ 
ations  of  advancing  years  with  the  occasion  that  had  thrown 
us  together.  Dr.  Spring,  with  great  preciseness  of  manner, 
as  though  the  words  were  well  considered,  said  to  me  : 

"  You  are  now  fifty-one  years  old,  and  you  have  the  best 
thirty  years  of  your  life  before  you." 

"  How  can  that  be  possible  ?"  I  asked  :  "at  fifty  a  man  be 
gins  to  think  the  best  years  of  his  life  are  past,  and  the  journey 
onward  is  only  down  hill." 


DR.    SPRING'S  PREDICTION.  67 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Dr.  Spring:  "you  will  have  better 
health  of  body  and  mind  :  you  will  do  more  and  better  work 
for  God  and  man  in  the  next  thirty  years  than  you  have  done 
in  the  last  fifty.  I  will  not  live  to  see  it,  but  mark  my  words 
and  see  if  it  is  not  so." 

The  words  of  the  venerable  man  were  to  me  like  those  of 
a  prophet.  His  voice  and  manner,  in  the  pulpit  or  out,  were 
as  of  one  sent  to  speak  by  authority,  and  some  who  sat  in  his 
presence  sixty  years  will  remember  with  something  like  awe 
his  majestic  tones  and  words.  He  must  be  more  than  a  com 
mon  man  who  can  stand  in  one  pulpit,  in  the  midst  of  a  great, 
impulsive,  changing  commercial  city  like  this,  and  maintain 
himself  and  hold  his  people  more  than  sixty  years !  If  a  man 
does  not  run  out  in  that  time,  his  hearers  are  very  apt  to 
think  him  exhausted,  and  to  want  young  blood  in  the  pulpit. 

Dr.  Spring  was  before  his  people  in  thinking  of  this.  And 
his  treatment  of  the  case  was  so  characteristic  of  human 
nature  that  the  fact,  as  I  can  mention  it,  will  be  a  hint  to  pas 
tors  and  to  congregations. 

In  the  year  1849  Dr.  Spring  came  to  me  in  my  study,  and 
said :  "  I  want  you  to  help  me  in  finding  a  colleague  in  my 
pulpit  and  pastoral  work. " 

"  A  colleague  for  you"  I  said  with  some  surprise ;  "  the 
need  of  it  is  not  apparent  to  me." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  am  now  sixty-four  years 
old,  and  am  approaching  that  time  of  life  when  I  shall  require 
assistance,  and  when  that  time  arrives  /  shall  be  sure  that  I 
do  not  need  it,  I  wish  to  secure  a  colleague  in  anticipation 
of  that  event." 

This  purpose  showed  the  strong,  good  sense  of  the  man, 
great  foresight,  firmness  of  resolve,  and  a  degree  of  self- 
knowledge  very  rare  indeed. 

We  gave  ourselves  to  the  task  of  finding  the  right  man. 
His  people  knew  nothing  of  his  intention ;  and  they  saw  no 
signs  of  decay  in  those  splendid  powers  of  body  and  mind 
which  had  so  long  placed  him  in  the  front  rank  of  living 
preachers.  Perhaps  they  would  have  resisted  his  purpose 
had  they  known  what  was  going  on. 


68  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

His  trustees  voted  him  an  extra  sum  with  which  to  employ 
occasional  aid  at  his  own  discretion,  and  various  preachers 
were  invited  to  supply  his  pulpit.  No  one  of  them  seemed 
to  be  the  man — some  perhaps  were  too  great,  others  too 
small :  the  one  just  right  did  not  appear. 

And  now  for  the  result :  five  or  six  years  went  by,  and 
when  the  congregation  felt  that  a  colleague  was  desirable,  Dr. 
Spring  was  in  the  state  of  mind  that  he  foresaw  in  1849,  and 
was  very  sure  that  he  did  not  need  one. 

This  is  not  a  condition  peculiar  to  Dr.  Spring.  Men  do 
not  perceive  their  own  mental  failures.  Often  men  think 
they  can  write  as  good  a  sermon  or  as  brilliant  an  essay,  and 
even  a  better  one,  than  they  ever  could,  when  they  are  past 
fruit-bearing.  Their  friends  will  not  tell  them  so.  They 
would  not  believe  their  friends  if  they  were  told.  They  are 
more  fluent  of  words,  with  tongue  and  pen,  than  they  ever 
were,  and  so  mistake  the  number  of  words  for  power  of 
thoughts. 

Dr.  Spring's  mind  did  not  fail  him.  He  became  stone- 
blind,  and  the  cataract  being  removed  he  was  restored  to 
sight.  The  weight  of  eighty-eight  years  made  "  the  strong 
men  bow  themselves,"  but  his  soul  was  triumphant  as  it  trod 
the  shining  way  upward  to  the  glory  that  awaited  him. 
When  his  limbs  could  no  longer  walk  the  floor,  I  was  with 
him  in  his  chamber,  where  he  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  clad  in 
a  white  flannel  robe,  with  a  silk  cap  on  his  head  :  and  in  all 
the  years  of  my  intercourse  I  never  had  so  cheery,  familiar 
and  entertaining  discourse  with  him.  It  was  discourse 
indeed,  and  he  delivered  the  most  of  it.  He  told  me  of  his 
boyish  days,  his  adventures,  his  loves,  his  successes,  not  a 
word  of  his  trials,  and  when  I  had  taken  leave  of  him,  and 
was  near  the  door,  he  called  me  back  to  tell  me  a  story  of 
Lyman  Beecher  and  his  wife  being  tipped  out  of  a  wagon. 
As  we  finally  parted,  he  said :  "  I  wish  you  would  come  oftener; 
do  come  at  least  once  a  week :  it  will  not  be  long"  I  never 
saw  him  again. 

What  a  volume  could  be  made  of  the  "pastors  of  New 
York"  dead  in  the  last  forty  years.  I  saw  the  sainted  Milnor 


SABBATH  AMONG   THE  HILLS.  69 

just  after  his  soul  ascended  to  his  Father.  He  lay  in  white 
raiment,  on  his  couch,  as  on  a  triumphal  car.  And  the  vol 
ume  would  be  bright  with  the  names  of  Phillips,  Potts  and 
Krebs,  Knox  and  De  Witt,  Maclay  and  Somers,  McClintock 
and  Durbin,  Skinner  and  Alexander,  Bethune,  Parker,  Asa 
D.  Smith,  McElroy,  McLeod,  McCartee,  Janes,  Hagenay,  Rice, 
Vinton,  Hoge,  McLane,  Mason,  Muhlenberg,  and  others  now 
on  the  right  hand  of  God  ! 


SABBATH  AMONG  THE  HILLS. 

Never  do  I  feel  the  power  and  the  beauty  of  God's  word 
and  works  more  than  among  the  hills !  Those  familiar  pas 
sages  in  the  Psalms  and  in  the  Prophecies  come  with  energy 
to  the  mind  when  the  mountains  stand  around  you  as  they 
do  about  the  Holy  City,  and  the  hills  encompass  you  like  the 
towers  and  the  promises  of  the  Everlasting  God. 

Once  a  year  I  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  valley  where 
Williams  College  stands,  in  Berkshire  County,  Mass.  Of  so 
many  in  Switzerland,  and  England,  and  America  have  I 
said,  "  It  is  one  of  the  loveliest  in  the  world,"  that  it  seems 
idle  to  repeat  it  of  another.  But  if  I  were  to  invent  a  place 
for  a  seat  of  learning,  and  a  school  of  science  and  art,  a  site 
for  a  college,  I  would  pile  up  wooded  hills,  around  green 
fields,  and  through  the  openings  among  the  mountains  that 
shut  out  the  world  and  support  the  sky  I  would  have  two 
rivers  of  living  waters,  emblems  of  knowledge  and  virtue, 
flowing  gently  in;  uniting  within  the  vale,  they  should  min 
gle  in  the  midst  of  a  grove ;  and  then,  in  one  broader  and 
deeper  stream,  they  should  flow  on  through  another  gateway, 
with  verdant  meadows  and  wild  flowers  on  its  banks,  into  the 
world  to  be  made  gladder  and  better  for  its  healing  and  sav 
ing  power. 

So  is  this  happy  valley.  It  was  a  beautiful  Providence 
which  guided  a  soldier,  who  fell  in  battle  with  the  Indians 


7°  t  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

before  the  war  of  our  Revolution,  to  select  this  spot  in  the 
wilderness  as  the  seat  of  a  school,  now  a  College  called  Wil 
liams,  his  own  name,  and  it  is  quite  likely  that  so  long  as 
grass  grows  and  rivers  run,  and  hills  stand,  and  men  live  and 
learn,  this  place  will  rejoice  in  the  wisdom  that  ordained  his 
choice,  and  will  call  his  memory  blessed. 

Here,  then,  I  come  once  more,  on  the  return  of  the  Col 
lege  Commencement  season.  A  few  hours  ago  I  was  swelter 
ing  in  the  heats  of  the  great  city.  I  am  sitting  in  my  over 
coat  now,  on  a  piazza,  and  am  very  cool,  if  not  comforta 
ble.  The  mercury  was  90  in  the  house  in  town ;  it  is  here 
about  65,  and  as  it  is  raining  hard,  and  a  tremendous  thun 
der-storm  has  clarified  the  atmosphere,  the  change  is  so 
refreshing  as  to  be  truly  exhilarating.  It  is  a  sort  of  magical 
transformation  that  sets  one  down  in  such  a  high  valley  as 
this,  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains,  so  soon  and  suddenly 
from  the  heart  of  a  great  city !  And  its  enjoyments  have 
become  so  well  and  widely  known,  that  hundreds  who  have 
tastes  to  appreciate  the  intellectual  festivities,  as  well  as  the 
natural  beauties  and  enjoyments  of  the  region,  flock  hither 
at  this  season,  and  make  a  high  holiday  of  it  in  the  early 
summer.  This  season  we  miss  some  who  were  wont  to  be 
here,  but  the  place  is  full  of  guests. 

EXTRACTS  FROM   MY  DIARY. 

June  29. — Sabbath.  Rain.  There  is  no  need  of  saying, 
"When  it  rains,  let  it  rain,"  for  when  the  clouds,  with  their 
bosoms  full,  get  in  among  these  hills,  they  stay,  and  it  keeps 
on  raining  with  wonderful  perseverance. 

In  the  forenoon  the  annual  sermon  was  delivered  before  the 
Mills  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  of  the  College.  The 
preacher  was  the  Rev.  Roswell  D.  Hitchcock,  D.D.,  Profes 
sor  in  the  Union  Theological  Seminary  of  New  York.  His 
text  was  from  the  parable  of  the  talents,  "  He  that  hath,  unto 
him  shall  be  given,"  etc.  The  vein  of  deep  Christian  phi 
losophy  running  through  the  discourse  imbedded  in  the 
mind  of  young  men  the  great  truth  of  the  text  that  having 


SABBATH  AMONG   TH2  HILLS.  71 

is  using,  or  the  result  is  losing :  that  the  use  of  talents 
increases  them,  the  misuse  tends  to  their  destruction,  so  that 
the  analogies  of  nature  confirm  the  laws  of  divine  grace.  A 
more  practical  and  important  lesson  the  wisdom  of  the  Great 
Teacher  never  taught,  for  in  the  womb  of  it  are  the  embryos 
of  all  success  in  this  life  and  of  salvation  after.  Especially  in 
this  muscular-development  age,  when  young  men's  minds  are 
full  of  the  glory  that  comes  from  brawn  rather  than  brain,  and 
from  brain  rather  than  heart;  when  the  physical  is  asserting 
itself  over  the  intellectual,  and  both  are  preferred  to  the  spir 
itual,  it  was  a  capital  idea  with  which  Dr.  Hitchcock  was 
inspired,  to  put  before  these  young  men  in  the  early  period 
of  their  education  the  inseparable  connection  between  the  im 
provement  and  the  enjoyment  of  the  talents  God  has  granted. 
The  peculiar  sententiousness,  the  epigrammatic  form  of  ex 
pression,  the  sharp,  short  and  incisive  phrase,  in  which  a  whole 
volume  of  wisdom  is  concentrated,  these  are  characteristic 
features  of  Dr.  Hitchcock's  way  of  putting  things,  and  they 
stick  like  knives  into  the  memory.  The  hope  would  spring 
up,  as  he  spoke,  that  under  these  timely  teachings  these 
young  men  will  get  impressions  that  will  tell  on  their  entire 
lives,  and  bear  fruit  in  ages  far  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
time.  So  influence  perpetuates  and  propagates  itself.  In 
lines  direct  and  divergent,  mind  touches  minds,  and  these 
others,  in  many  devious  courses,  till  "  thoughts  that  breathe 
and  words  that  burn"  go  out  into  all  the  earth,  unto  the 
ends  of  the  world. 

In  the  afternoon  President  Chadbourne  preached  the  ser 
mon  to  the  graduating  class.  He  seized  upon  the  pro 
gramme  or  curriculum  of  a  finished  Christian  education  as 
marked  out  by  the  Holy  Spirit  in  Peter,  who  bade  those 
whom  he  taught  to  add  to  their  faith  virtue,  in  the  old  sense 
of  the  word,  manly  courage  and  excellence,  then  knowledge, 
temperance,  patience,  godliness,  brotherly  kindness,  charity. 
Each  and  all  of  these  were  illustrated  and  enforced  in  such 
strong  and  earnest  terms  as  to  produce  on  the  mirror  of  a 
lucid  mind  the  image  of  a  perfect  character :  a  fully-de 
veloped,  disciplined  and  furnished  man,  thoroughly  equipped 


72  1RENAZUS  LETTERS. 

for  the  conflict  and  the  service  of  a  human  life  in  an  age  of 
active  mental  and  moral  forces,  when  inaction  is  treason, 
and  to  doubt  is  to  be  destroyed. 

Toward  evening  it  is  the  habit  of  this  College,  on  the  Sab 
bath  preceding  Commencement,  to  meet  its  friends  in  the 
Mission  Park,  where  in  1806,  by  the  shelter  of  a  haystack, 
five  students  prayed  American  missions  into  being.  There 
a  white  marble  has  been  set  up,  with  a  globe  on  its  summit, 
and  the  names  of  the  young  men  on  its  face.  Around  this 
monument,  under  the  shade  of  giant  trees,  and  beneath  the 
canopy  of  the  sky,  we  sing  the  songs  of  missionary  devotion, 
listen  to  rousing  words,  and  pray  for  a  fresh  baptism  of  the 
spirit  of  the  men  who  made  this  spot  immortal  in  the  mem 
ory  of  the  Church.  In  this  out-of-door,  under  the  trees 
meeting,  some  years  ago,  I  met  the  Hon.  James  A.  Garfield 
for  the  first  time,  and  heard  his  voice  in  the  cause  of  Christian 
missions.  To-day  the  ground  was  so  wet  with  recent  rain, 
that  we  met  in  the  house  of  God,  made  with  hands,  instead 
of  the  groves,  "his  first  temple."  The  venerable  ex- Presi 
dent,  Mark  Hopkins,  presided,  and  spoke  with  vigor  that 
showed  the  fire  of  Christian  love  brightens  as  it  nears  its 
consummation  in  joys  supernal :  Dr.  Hitchcock  threw  his 
soul  into  the  communion,  and  talked  with  us  of  the  Christ 
in  conscious  Christian  aggression  on  a  world  to  be  saved : 
Dr.  R.  R.  Booth,  of  New  York  city,  a  graduate  of  this  Col 
lege  in  the  class  of  1849,  stirred  all  hearts  with  a  fervid 
appeal  that  the  birthplace  of  American  missions  might 
always  be  filled  and  be  glorified  by  the  spirit  of  them  whose 
works  had  in  72  years  made  the  Gospel  to  surround  the 
globe. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  Alumni  spent  an  hour  in  the 
chapel  praying  together,  Professor  Perry  presiding.  And  so 
closed  the  day  :  a  great  day  :  a  day  of  high  intellectual  and 
spiritual  power,  when  minds  and  hearts  of  educated,  think 
ing  men  rose  into  the  loftier  ranges  of  Christian  enjoyment, 
and  on  the  mount  of  vision  said  one  to  another,  "  It  is  good 
to  be  here." 


A    SERVICE   OF  SONG.  73 


A  SERVICE  OF  SONG. 

It  was  in  the  village  of  Litchfield,  Conn.,  where  and  when 
we  met  of  a  Sabbath  evening  for  a  service  of  song. 

Services  of  praise  or  song  are  frequent,  consisting,  for 
the  most  part,  in  singing  miscellaneous  hymns,  one  after 
another,  with  no  special  relation  to  each  other,  or  to  any  spe 
cific  point  of  doctrine  or  duty.  An  hour  may  thus  be  passed 
with  delight,  but  without  much  profit  beyond  the  enjoyment 
of  the  song.  Our  service  contemplated  something  more. 
And,  having  frequently  introduced  the  same  thing  into  the 
parlor,  at  thronged  watering-places  on  Sabbath  evening,  to 
the  great  satisfaction  of  the  guests,  who  enter  into  it  with 
zest,  fervor  and  spirit,  I  am  quite  willing  to  think  the  plan 
has  some  merit  of  its  own  to  commend  it.  The  idea  is  to 
make  the  singing  of  successive  hymns  answer  the  higher 
purpose  of  praising  God,  while  it  illustrates,  enforces  and 
tenderly  impresses  religious  truth  on  the  hearts  of  those 
who  sing  and  hear.  To  this  end,  a  portion  of  Scripture  is 
selected  and  as  many  hymns  arranged  as  can  be  conveniently 
sung  within  the  time  allowed,  and  these  hymns  are  to  be 
specifically  adapted  to  apply  the  portion  of  divine  truth.  If 
the  congregation  has  a  choir  the  hymns  may  be  given  to  it 
for  rehearsal,  and  in  any  case  it  is  desirable  that  no  time  be 
lost  in  "  getting  ready  to  sing"  after  the  hymn  is  announced 
and  read.  But  the  service  will  be  more  happily  exhibited 
by  giving  the  programme  as  we  conducted  it  at  Litchfield. 
The  subject  and  the  order  may  be  varied  to  meet  the  taste 
and  habits  of  the  people. 

HYMN. 

"  Come  let  us  join  our  cheerful  songs, 

With  angels  round  the  throne  : 
Ten  thousand  thousand  are  their  tongues, 
But  all  their  joys  are  one." 


74  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


PRAYER. 

Reading  the  Scriptures:  Matt,  xi :  25-30.  The  words  on 
which  our  minds  will  dwell  this  evening  are  these :  "  Come 
unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest."  REST  is  the  theme. 

If,  on  the  stillness  of  this  Sabbath  evening  air,  a  voice 
should  come  down  to  us  from  the  lips  that  spake  as  never 
man  spake,  no  sweeter  words  than  these  could  fall  upon  the 
ears  of  listening  men.  Rest.  I  will  give  you  REST.  Wearied, 
worn  and  ready  to  sink  beneath  the  heat  and  burdens  of  the 
day,  we  long  for  rest.  It  is  found  in  the  blessed  Gospel 
which  brings  immortality  to  light.  First,  let  us  meditate 
the  blessedness  of  rest  on  the  Christian  Sabbath.  It  comes 
to  us  in  the  midst  of  the  cares,  toils  and  even  the  pursuit 
of  pleasures,  and  every  heart  welcomes  its  holy,  peaceful, 
refreshing  presence.  Tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,  more  than 
sleep.  The  whole  earth  rejoices  in  its  rest.  The  beasts  of 
burden  rest.  Is  it  fancy  that  the  fields  and  flowers,  the  sun 
shine  and  meadow  streams  are  sweeter  and  brighter  when 
the  Sabbath  comes  ?  Let  us  sing  two  or  three  songs  of  the 
Sabbath  rest : 

"  Welcome  sweet  day  of  rest, 
That  saw  the  Lord  arise  ; 
Welcome  to  this  reviving-  breast, 
And  these  rejoicing  eyes." 


"  Thine  earthly  Sabbaths,  Lord,  we  love, 
But  there's  a  nobler  rest  above." 

And  the  words  of  the  Saviour  were  an  invitation  to  rest  in 
him.  Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest :  rest  from 
the  weary  load  of  sorrow  and  of  sin  :  we  are  all  sinners  and 
therefore  we  are  all  sufferers.  Every  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness,  and  there  is  none  that  has  escaped  the  common 
lot.  Many  wear  the  tokens  of  sorrow  :  and  many  an  aching 
heart  hangs  out  no  signal  of  distress.  Unto  you  who  feel 
sin  an  evil  and  bitter  thing,  and  would  find  peace  of  con- 


A   SERVICE  OF  SONG.  75 

science,  sweet  forgiveness,  the  Saviour  says,  "  Come  unto 
me."  Unto  you  who  are  bowing  down  under  sorrows  that 
no  loving  words  of  human  sympathy  can  assuage,  the  mes 
sage  of  the  healer  and  the  comforter  conies  in  these  words 
of  divine  compassion  :  "  I  will  give  you  rest."  Come  and 
cast  all  your  care  on  him :  take  him  as  your  Saviour  from 
sin :  as  the  rock  of  your  salvation  :  the  consolation  and  joy 
of  your  hearts,  while  we  sing : 

"  Sweet  the  moments,  rich  in  blessing, 

Which  before  the  cross  I  spend, 

Life  and  health  and  peace  possessing 

From  the  sinner's  dying  friend. 

"  Here  I'll  sit  forever  viewing 

Mercy's  streams  in  streams  of  blood  ; 
Precious  drops,  my  soul  bedewing, 
Plead  and  claim  my  peace  with  God." 


"  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea 
But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  thou  bid'st  me  come  to  thee, 
^      O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  1 

«'  Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot, 
To  thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  !" 


*'  Come,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  ye  languish, 

Come  !  at  God's  altar  fervently  kneel ; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your  anguish ! 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal  1 

"  Joy  of  the  desolate,  Light  of  the  straying, 

Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 
Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  saying, 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  cure  1" 


"  Jesus,  pitying  Saviour,  hear  me ; 

Draw  thou  near  me ; 
Turn  thee,  Lord,  in  grace  to  me, 
For  thou  knowest  all  my  sorrow ; 

Night  and  morrow 
Doth  my  cry  go  up  to  thee. 


76  tltEN&US  LETTERS. 

"  Peace  I  cannot  find  :  oh,  take  me, 

Lord,  and  make  me 
From  the  yoke  of  evil  free  ; 
Calm  this  longing  never-sleeping, 

Still  my  weeping, 
Grant  me  hope  once  more  in  thee. 

"  Here  I  bring  my  will,  oh  take  it ; 

Thine,  Lord,  make  it ; 
Calm  this  troubled  heart  of  mine : 
In  thy  strength  I  too  may  conquer ; 

Wait  no  longer ; 
Show  in  me  thy  grace  divine. 

And  then  conies  REST  in  Heaven :  O  blessed  rest :  the 
rest  that  remains :  infinite,  eternal  rest :  rest  in  God.  Eye 
hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard  what  waits  for  them  who 
enter  into  that  rest.  The  prophets  of  old  :  the  poets  of  all 
time :  dying  saints :  have  had  visions  of  that  rest,  and  their 
songs  of  praise  have  helped  to  lift  us  heavenward,  while 
wrestling  and  toiling  here  below.  Let  us  sing : 

"  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home, 

Name  ever  dear  to  me, 
When  shall  my  labors  have  an  end 
In  joy  and  peace  and  thee." 

And  when  we  had  sung  two  or  three  hymns  of  heaven,  of 
which  there  are  so  many  so  precious  that  we  never  weary  of 
them,  I  read  some  of  the  noblest  stanzas  of  old  Latin  hymns, 
which  have  come  along  down  the  ages,  getting  strength, 
beauty  and  glory  as  they  came:  the  faith  and  hope  and 
blood  of  successive  saints,  martyrs  and  confessors  ringing  in 
their  notes  of  triumphant  harmony  : 

"  For  thee,  O  dear,  dear  country, 

Mine  eyes  their  vigils  keep ; 
For  very  love,  beholding 

Thy  happy  name,  they  weep. 
The  mention  of  thy  glory 

Is  unction  to  the  breast, 
And  medicine  in  sickness, 

And  love,  and  life,  and  rest. 


A   SERVICE   OF  SONG. 

"  O  one,  O  only  mansion  ! 

O  paradise  of  joy  ! 
Where  tears  are  ever  banished, 
And  smiles  have  no  alloy. 

"  Thou  hast  no  shore,  fair  ocean ! 

Thou  hast  no  time,  bright  day  ! 
Dear  fountain  of  refreshment 

To  pilgrims  far  away  ! 
Upon  the  Rock  of  Ages 

They  raise  the  holy  tower ; 
Thine  is  the  victor's  laurel, 

And  thine  the  golden  dower ! 

"  Jerusalem,  the  Golden, 

With  milk  and  honey  blest, 
Beneath  thy  contemplation 

Sink  heart  and  voice  opprest. 
I  know  not,  oh,  I  know  not, 

What  social  joys  are  there  ! 
What  radiancy  of  glory, 

What  light  beyond  compare. 

"  And  when  I  fain  would  sing  them, 

My  spirit  fails  and  faints  ; 
And  vainly  would  it  image 
The  assembly  of  the  saints. 

"  They  stand,  those  halls  of  Syon, 

Conjubilant  with  songf 
And  bright  with  many  an  angel, 

And  all  the  martyr-throng  ; 
The  Prince  is  ever  in  them, 

The  daylight  is  serene  ; 
The  pastures  of  the  blessed 

Are  decked  in  glorious  sheen. 

"  There  is  the  throne  of  David, 

And  there,  from  care  released, 
The  song  of  them  that  triumph, 

The  shout  of  them  that  feast ; 
And  they  who,  with  their  Leader, 

Have  conquered  in  the  fight, 
For  ever,  and  for  ever, 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  white  ! 


LETTERS. 

"  O  holy,  placid  harp-notes 
Of  that  eternal  hymn  ! 
O  sacred,  sweet  refection, 
And  peace  of  seraphim  1 

"  Oh,  none  can  tell  thy  bulwarks, 

How  gloriously  they  rise ! 
Oh,  none  can  tell  thy  capitals 

Of  beautiful  device  ! 
Thy  loveliness  oppresses 

All  human  thought  and  heart ; 
And  none,  O  Peace,  O  Syon, 

Can  sing  thee  as  thou  art ! 

"  O  fields  that  know  no  sorrow  I 
O  state  that  fears  no  strife ! 
O  princely  bowers  !  O  land  of  flowers ! 
O  home,  and  realm  of  life  !" 

And  we  closed  the  service  with  the  appropriate  doxology : 

"  Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb  who  hath  purchased  our  pardon, 
We'll  praise  him  again  when  we  pass  over  Jordan." 

The  interest  certainly  increased  every  moment,  as  the  ser 
vice  advanced :  the  people  catching  its  intent,  joining  with 
growing  emotions  in  the  songs,  as  they  gave  expression  to  the 
longing  desires  of  every  living  heart.  So  many  afterwards 
asked  for  repetition  of  the  service,  it  was  evident  that  it  was 
not  in  vain. 

Any  other  theme  might  be  chosen  and  developed  in  the 
same  way;  as  many  hymns  being  sung  under  each  division 
as  the  time  would  permit.  An  hour  and  a  half  will  fly  away 
in  such  a  delightful  exercise,  and  many  an  ardent  worshipper 
will  then  exclaim : 

11  My  willing  soul  would  Stay 
In  such  a  frame  as  this : 
And  sit  and  sing  herself  away 
To  everlasting  bliss." 


CHILDREN  AND    THE   CHURCH.  79 


CHILDREN  AND  THE  CHURCH. 

The  Hon.  William  E.  Dodge  stirred  the  Philadelphia  Chris 
tians  a  few  nights  ago  with  some  plain  but  very  timely  words. 
He  was  on  the  platform  in  a  great  meeting  gathered  to  pro 
mote  a  General  Council  of  Presbyterians,  to  be  held  in  the 
City  of  Brotherly  Love.  Mr.  Dodge  told  them  that  the  chil 
dren  of  the  Church  are  systematically  taught  to  neglect  the 
Church,  and  while  the  clergy  and  others  are  laying  plans  to 
gather  their  great  men  in  council  from  all  parts  of  the  world, 
it  would  be  well  to  look  into  a  little  matter  in  their  own  fami 
lies  and  at  their  church  doors. 

Mr.  Dodge  referred  to  the  practice — now  almost  universal 
—of  allowing  the  children  to  attend  the  Sunday-school,  and 
then  to  be  absent  from  the  church.  His  remarks  on  this 
habit,  which  he  condemned  most  earnestly,  were  loudly 
applauded,  the  people  being  convicted  in  their  own  conscience, 
as  the  men  of  Jerusalem  were  when  Jesus  said,  "  He  that  is 
without  sin  among  you  let  him  cast  the  first  stone." 

I  was  going  to  church  last  Sabbath  morning,  and  as  I 
approached  it,  a  procession,  or  rather  a  throng  of  children,  not 
infants,  but  boys  and  girls  of  ten  and  twelve  years  of  age, 
with  books  and  papers  in  hand,  were  pouring  out  of  the  lec 
ture  and  Sunday-school  room,  and  going  down  street,  away 
from  the  church !  Had  they  been  suddenly  seized  with  ill 
ness,  so  that  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  get  home  and  into 
bed?  Had  the  labors  of  the  school  been  so  severe  that  the 
poor  things  were  exhausted,  and  must  find  rest  and  recrea 
tion  without  delay  ? 

Mr.  Dodge  thought  the  children  went  home  and  spent  the 
day  in  reading  Sunday-school  books,  a  large  part  of  which,  he 
said,  were  not  fit  to  be  read  on  Sunday  or  any  other  day.  If 
they  do  not  spend  the  day  at  home,  it  is  better  than  I  fear,  for 
in  the  case  of  the  boys  it  is  often  true  that  the  Sabbath  is 
made  a  play-day,  and  the  Sunday-school  is  the  only  hour  of 
confinement  to  which  they  submit. 

But  it  is  not  about  the  way  in  which  the  children  spend  the 


86  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

Sabbath  that  I  am  now  writing.  It  is  the  fact  that  they  do  not 
attend  church  with  their  parents  regularly,  sitting  in  the  same 
pew,  and  receiving  the  regular  instruction  of  the  sanctuary. 
The  time  was  when  this  was  the  uniform,  steady  and  excellent 
habit  of  all  Christian  families.  It  is  not  so  now.  It  ought 
to  be  so  again.  The  Sunday-school  has  led  to  the  change 
for  the  worse.  It  should  now  lead  the  way  in  a  reform. 

Were  I  the  pastor  of  a  church  in  which  this  evil  prevailed, 
I  would  break  it  up  in  two  ways :  first,  by  so  regulating  the 
Sunday-school  that  it  should  not  hinder  but  should  posi 
tively  help  the  children  to  attend  the  church  service :  and, 
secondly,  by  so  enlightening  the  darkness  of  the  parental 
mind  that  the  sin  and  misery  of  the  present  habit  should 
appear  to  the  most  benighted.  I  would  show  them  that  the 
church,  the  ordinances  of  God's  house,  the  regular  worship 
in  the  sanctuary,  will  prove  to  be  more  useful  in  the  forma 
tion  of  character,  and  in  training  for  usefulness  and  heaven, 
than  the  Sunday-school  can  be:  that  the  church  is  the  home 
for  the  soul  of  the  child  as  well  as  for  the  parent,  and  for  its 
power  no  human  substitute  has  yet  been  invented  :  that  the 
habit  of  church  worship  should  be  formed  in  early  child 
hood,  and  no  means  of  pleasing  or  profiting  the  young  are 
to  be  compared  with  it,  or  put  in  the  place  of  it :  and  if  but 
one,  the  church  or  the  school,  can  be  enjoyed,  the  church  is 
to  be  prized  and  the  school  abandoned.  This  is  the  plain 
truth,  and  that  is  what  we  want. 

Then  there  are  two  other  matters  to  be  attended  to :  the 
Sunday-school  must  not  be  held  at  such  an  hour  as  to  make 
it  tedious  or  trying  for  the  children  to  go  to  church.  It  is 
quite  likely  that  the  modern  contrivances  for  making  Sunday- 
schools  amusing  have  given  them  a  distaste  for  the  more 
solemn  services  of  the  sanctuary.  If  so,  the  amusement  is 
a  sin.  The  school  should  feed  the  church.  Children  ought 
to  be  led  by  one  into  the  other :  exposed  to  the  preaching  of 
the  Gospel,  taught  the  ways  of  God's  house,  and  brought  up 
under  its  influence,  with  all  its  hallowed  and  elevating 
influences. 

To  make  this  service  attractive  to  children,  it  may  be  that 


CHILDREN  AND  THE  CHURCH.  8i 

the  preaching  of  the  present  day  may  have  to  be  modified  in 
some  pulpits.  But  to  be  modified  it  need  not  be  babyfied. 
The  namby-pamby  twaddle  talked  to  children,  and  called 
"children's  preaching,"  is  just  about  as  palatable  to  them 
when  they  are  old  enough  to  go  to  Sunday-school  as  pap  is 
to  a  boy  of  ten.  Nothing  is  more  attractive  to  a  child  of 
Christian  parents  than  the  Bible ;  itself  a  wonderful  picture 
and  story  book,  more  wonderful  than  all  others  together; 
and  he  is  a  great  preacher  to  parents  who  will  hold  up  these 
pictures  and  stories  to  the  entranced  attention  of  the 
young. 

Dr.  Bevan  says  that  in  London  he  was  wont  to  devote  a 
part  of  each  morning  service  to  the  special  wants  of  the  chil 
dren,  and  so  made  them  feel  that  they  were  an  important 
part  of  the  congregation.  Mr.  Dodge  was  so  thoroughly 
applauded  by  his  Philadelphia  hearers  that  he  was  sure  they 
knew  the  state  of  things  there  to  be  just  as  bad  as  it  is  here 
in  New  York.  And  now  I  have  a  letter  from  a  pastor  in  Bal 
timore,  who  tells  me  how  it  is  in  that  fair  city.  He  writes : 

' '  The  difficulty  with  us — and  it  is  a  very  serious  one — is  that  children 
are  not  brought  to  church  as  formerly,  and  as  they  certainly  should  be.  It  is 
a  painful  sight  to  see  the  large  proportion  of  children  who,  at  the  close  of 
the  morning-Sabbath  school,  instead  of  going  into  church,  go  home ;  and 
what  renders  the  evil  more  alarming  is  that  parents  not  only  seem  to  make 
no  effort  to  arrest  the  practice,  but  approve  it ;  or,  to  say  the  least,  apologize. 
The  plea  is  that  to  go  to  Sabbath -school,  and  then  to  church,  is  too  much 
for  children;  the  confinement  being  so  long  as  to  prove  neither  healthful 
physically  or  religiously.  Some  even  go  so  far  as  to  contend  that  the  Sab 
bath-school  answers  all  the  same  as  church-going,  and  is  perhaps  better 
adapted  for  children. 

1 '  Now  as  to  the  matter  of  physical  endurance,  is  the  present  race  of  chil 
dren  more  feeble  and  effeminate  than  were  their  fathers  and  mothers  ?  The 
latter  were  trained  to  go  to  church  as  punctually  as  to  Sabbath-school ;  and 
none  of  them  were  probably  the  worse,  but  very  much  the  better  for  so 
doing.  The  plea  is  only  one  of  the  indications  of  the  increasing  flabbiness 
of  the  piety  of  our  day. 

"  And  as  to  substituting  the  Sabbath-school  for  the  sanctuary,  what  will 
be  the  effect  of  this  upon  the  Church  of  the  future  ?  On  Solomon's  prin 
ciple  that  the  training  of  the  child  determines  the  character  of  the  man, 
what  will  be  the  proportion  of  church-goers  in  another  generation  ?  The 


82  IREMMUS  LETTERS. 

New  York  Observer  of  forty  or  fifty  years  hence  will  have  to  speak  even 
more  urgently  than  in  the  recent  editorial  on  the  '  Falling  off  of  Church- 
going.'  The  Great  Enemy  does  his  work  b'ttle  by  little,  perhaps,  but  he 
does  it ;  and  whilst  parents,  church  officers,  and  possibly  pastors,  are  sleep 
ing  on  this  subject,  the  tares  are  being  sown.  From  different  and  widely 
separated  portions  of  our  country  the  writer  learns  that  the  evil  exists,  and 
is,  perhaps,  increasing.  Is  it  not  time  to  call  a  halt  ?  Take  the  children 
to  church.  L." 

What  more  can  I  say  than  unto  you  has  been  said  ?  Here 
is  an  evil  that  is  sore  under  the  sun :  in  the  Sunday-school 
and  the  Church  :  every  teacher  has  a  duty  in  the  matter  and 
every  parent  and  pastor.  Their  combined  action  can  work 
a  speedy  reform. 


THE  SHAKERS  OF  CANTERBURY. 

Some  seven  or  eight  miles  south  of  the  spot  where  I  am 
now  writing,  and  in  full  view  from  the  hill-top  on  which  our 
farm  and  farm-house  repose,  is  the  Shaker  village  in  Canter 
bury,  N.  H.  We  drove  over  there  yesterday.  So  much 
romance,  sentiment  and  poetry  have  been  invested  in  these 
Shaker  communities,  that  one  is  hardly  prepared  for  the 
hard,  practical  work-a-day  communities  they  are,  when  he 
comes  to  see  them.  They  are  related  to  the  Dervishes  of 
Turkey,  the  Monks  of  Italy  and  the  Saints  of  the  Desert. 
One  touch  of  madness  makes  them  all  akin:  the  blunder 
that  to  be  outside  of  duty  is  doing  it :  that  God  is  pleased 
with  those  who  shirk  his  precepts,  and  set  up  their  own 
vagaries  in  place  of  his  will.  Freeman,  the  Pocasset  Advent- 
ist,  slew  his  little  daughter  under  a  mistaken  idea  of  duty: 
the  Shakers  sacrifice  the  husband,  wife,  father  and  mother, 
under  an  error  as  wild  and  as  fatal  as  the  fanatic  of  Cape 
Cod  has  made. 

Shaker  villages  are  substantially  alike.  A  few  large,  barn- 
like  houses,  pierced  with  many  windows  and  a  few  doors,  a 
meeting-house,  shops,  and  barns  for  the  crops  and  cattle,  all 


THE  SHAKERS  OF  CANTERBURY.  83 

near  together,  no  ornament,  no  architectural  taste,  nothing 
to  please  or  to  offend  the  eye,  but  rigid  lines,  perfect  cleanli 
ness  and  order,  these  are  the  principal  features  of  the  settle 
ments. 

We  drove  up  to  a  door  over  which  was  the  sign  "  Trustees' 
Office."  Our  party  was  large — fourteen — and  we  were  look 
ing  for  something  like  a  hotel,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be 
found  more  public  than  this.  We  were  welcomed  at  the 
door  by  a  neatly-attired  and  prim  Sister,  who  pleasantly 
invited  us  in,  and  gave  us  seats  in  the  reception-room. 
Another  sister  joined  her,  both  of  them  bright,  smiling, 
cheerful  women,  and,  without  waiting  to  be  asked,  they  gave 
us  ice-water,  and  also  mint  water,  a  pleasant  beverage. 
Their  kind  attentions,  especially  to  the  ladies  of  the  party, 
were  grateful  in  their  simplicity.  Presently  Elders  Blinn  and 
Kames  entered  and  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome.  Their  cheer 
ful,  animated  conversation,  the  interest  they  showed  in  the 
topics  of  the  day,  and  their  readiness  to  make  us  acquainted 
with  their  mode  of  life,  won  upon  our  regard,  and  we  felt 
that  we  were  with  friends. 

Elder  Blinn  invited  us  to  walk  through  the  village,  the 
houses  and  barns.  Most  of  the  company  followed  him  in  what 
proved  to  be  a  pleasant  and  entertaining  stroll.  The  stalls 
for  the  cows,  which  were  in  the  milking-way  at  that  hour, 
were  scrupulously  clean.  The  milk-maids,  mostly  young,  did 
not  take  kindly  to  the  exhibition,  and  rather  hid  their  faces 
under  cover  of  the  cows.  The  cows  knew  their  own  stalls, 
over  each  of  which  was  the  name  of  its  tenant.  The  school 
room  was  supplied  with  all  modern  improvements,  but  school 
was  out  for  the  day.  The  shops  were  models  of  neatness 
and  convenience ;  a  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in 
its  place,  being  evidently  the  law  of  the  house.  Machinery 
and  factories  have  cheapened  the  production  of  many  articles 
which  the  Shakers  once  made,  so  that  their  line  of  business 
is  much  restricted.  But  they  do  nothing  which  they  do  not 
intend  to  do  well,  and  their  work  in  the  dairy,  the  garden,  the 
field  or  the  house,  is  honestly  done  and  commands  its  price. 

Elder  Kames  remained  with  me  while  the  others  surveyed 


84  1KZN&US  LETTERS. 


the  village,  which,  being  as  nearly  like  other  Shaker  villages 
as  one  pea  is  like  another,  was  not  to  me  a  novelty.  Our 
conversation  ran  along  : 

/.  —  How  many  persons  have  you  now  in  your  community? 

Elder  K.  —  About  one  hundred  and  fifty.  In  years  past  the 
number  has  been  much  larger,  as  many  as  three  hundred  at 
one  time. 

/.  —  Then  your  numbers  rather  diminish  than  increase. 
Do  you  have  frequent  accessions  to  your  connection  ? 

Elder  K.  —  Nearly  every  month  in  the  year  persons  come 
who  wish  to  join.  But  they  are  mostly  broken-down,  dis 
gusted  and  discouraged  people,  who  think  it  a  sort  of  asylum 
for  played-out  parties  —  they  soon  get  tired  of  it  and  pass  on. 
We  receive  none  as  members  until  they  show  that  they 
understand  our  principles  and  intelligently  adopt  them. 
Even  our  own  members  are  not  restrained  when  they  insist 
upon  going.  If  they  have  brought  property  into  the  com 
munity,  they  are  paid  what  is  just  if  they  leave,  and  no  one 
is  sent  away  empty. 

/.  —  How  then  are  your  numbers  recruited,  as  you  do  not 
marry,  and  some  must  die? 

Elder  K.  —  Children  are  brought  to  us  by  their  parents  and 
guardians,  and  we  bring  them  up  in  our  ways.  When  they 
have  reached  mature  years,  and  are  disposed  to  do  so,  they 
join  by  signing  the  covenant.  The  boys  are  less  inclined 
than  girls  are  to  fall  in  with  us.  Boys  are  more  restless, 
ambitious,  and  disposed  to  go  into  the  world.  Hence  we 
always  have  a  much  larger  number  of  women  than  of  men 
in  the  community. 

/.  —  You  are  a  corporation,  I  suppose,  so  that  you  can  hold 
your  property  and  people  under  law? 

Elder  K.  —  Nay,  we  are  not  incorporated  :  our  bond  is  a 
voluntary  covenant  by  which  the  management  is  confided  to 
trustees,  in  whose  name  the  property  is  held  and  all  business 
is  done.  We  have  between  three  and  four  thousand  acres  of 
land  here,  and  a  farm  in  the  State  of  New  York,  where  we 
raise  wheat  and  sell  it,  and  we  buy  our  flour  here,  for  this 
is  not  a  wheat-growing  region.  We  have  no  trouble  from 


THE   SHAKERS  OF  CANTERBURY.  8$ 

the  want  of  a  legal  charter,  and  it  is  not  the  custom  of  our 
people  to  put  themselves  into  such  a  relation  to  the  State. 

/. — You  have  a  post-office  under  the  General  Government, 
I  noticed  as  I  came  in  ;  is  that  for  your  own  convenience,  or 
the  public  generally? 

Elder  K. — For  all  who  choose  to  use  it.  Our  rules  allow 
families  of  parents  and  children  to  live  near  us  in  a  degree 
of  relation  with  the  Society,  but  they  manage  their  own  tem 
poral  concerns :  parents  are  required  to  be  kind  and  dutiful 
to  each  other,  to  bring  up  their  children  in  a  godly  manner, 
and  manage  their  property  wisely,  and  so  long  as  they  con 
tinue  to  conform  to  the  religious  faith  and  principles  of  the 
Society  they  can  stay,  and  no  longer.  Here  they  can  enjoy 
spiritual  privileges  and  live  away  from  the  world,  while  they 
preserve  their  own  domestic  relations. 

/. — This  feature  of  Shakerism  is  quite  new  to  me  :  how  do 
you  train  the  children  given  to  you  by  their  parents  ? 

Elder  K. — A  good  common  school  education  is  given  them, 
and  if  any  one  discovers  genius  and  special  aptness  to  learn, 
he  is  provided  with  the  best  instruction  in  higher  branches 
of  knowledge.  They  are  all  taught  in  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
particularly  the  life  and  lessons  of  Christ  and  the  apostles. 

At  this  point  in  our  conversation,  Elder  Blinn  returned 
with  the  party  of  visitors,  and  in  reply  to  some  inquiries 
which  I  did  not  make,  he  went  into  an  explanation  of  the 
religious  doctrine  of  the  Shakers.  This  is  as  unintelligible 
as  the  mysticism  of  the  Buddhists,  or  the  transcendentalism 
of  Emerson. 

The  priestess  of  Shakerism  was  a  woman,  Ann  Lee,  who 
was  born  in  England,  and  coming  to  this  country,  had  a 
following  of  believers  who  formed  a  Community  near  Sche- 
nectady,  N.  Y.,  where  she  died.  The  sect  discards  the  mar 
riage  and  parental  relation,  leads  a  life  of  isolation  from  the 
world,  men  and  women  living  side  by  side,  in  all  the  gentle 
relations  except  the  dearest  and  sweetest,  refusing  to  obey 
the  first  command  that  God  gave  to  his  creatures :  thus 
enacting  rebellion  bylaw  as  the  basis  of  their  Society.  What 
is  their  idea  of  the  Heavenly  Father  ? 


86  JREN&US  LETTERS. 

They  teach  that  God  exists  in  a  twofold  nature,  male  and 
female,  and  manifests  himself  in  the  creation  of  the  sexes  in 
"his  own  likeness."  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  was  the  male 
manifestation  of  the  Fatherhood,  and  in  these  latter  days 
Ann  Lee  was  born  as  the  revelation  of  the  Motherhood  of 
God,  and  so  we  have  in  Shakerism  a  religion  that  enjoys  all 
the  communications  of  the  Dual  Deity  in  whom  we  live. 
They  find  passages  of  the  Bible  which  they  hold  to  favor 
this  unintelligible  statement.  They  superadd  a  pure  Chris 
tian  system  of  practical  duty  in  which  the  moral  law  is  fully 
enforced  and  a  life  of  simple  godliness  is  inculcated.  So  far 
as  the  knowledge  and  belief  of  their  friends  and  enemies 
extend,  they  are  true  to  their  principles,  upright  in  their 
deportment,  honest  in  their  dealings  with  the  world,  and  the 
breath  of  scandal  or  suspicion  of  vice  among  themselves  has 
never  sullied  their  good  name.  This  is  a  noble  record. 

Such  a  people  cannot  be  very  numerous  in  this  world,  for 
very  obvious  reasons.  There  are  eighteen  communities  of 
them  in  the  United  States,  nine  being  in  New  England,  three 
in  the  State  of  New  York,  four  in  Ohio,  and  two  in  Kentucky. 
As  some  of  these  communities  are  very  small,  it  is  not  prob 
able  that  they  number  in  all  more  than  2500  members  in  the 
whole  country.  It  is  not  quite  a  hundred  years  since  Ann 
Lee  died,  the  mother  of  Shakers,  and  another  hundred  years 
will  not  see  the  race  more  numerous  than  it  is  now.  It  is 
more  likely  to  die  out  than  to  grow. 

Elder  Blinn  put  into  my  hands  the  printed  programme  of 
their  next  Sunday  service,  to  consist  chiefly  of  singing.  The 
world's  people  are  welcomed,  and  seats  are  provided  for  them. 
Dancing,  or  a  measured  march,  is  a  frequent  part  of  the 
service,  which  is  conducted  with  deliberation  and  without 
enthusiasm.  Quietness  and  self-control  are  cardinal  beauties 
of  the  Shaker  system. 

We  left  our  kind  friends  with  mutual  expressions  of  regard. 
Grateful  to  them  for  their  kindness,  we  drove  homeward  in 
the  cool  of  a  lovely  summer  evening,  taking  Loudon  Ridge, 
Jones'  Mill  and  Shell-Camp  Lake  in  the  way.  The  moon 
stood  over  the  mountains  in  glory  indescribable,  her  silvery 


MINISTERS'  PAY  IN  OLD    TIMES.  87 

sheen  clothing  woods  and  waters,  meadows  and  hillsides. 
So  still,  so  calm,  so  pure,  perhaps  all  the  more  so  because 
we  brought  such  elements  with  us  from  Shaker  Village ;  but 
as  the  sound  of  a  steam-engine  on  rail  or  river  has  never 
yet  disturbed  the  serene  repose  of  this  sequestered  vale,  we 
could  for  the  moment  enjoy  the  heavens  and  the  earth  as  if 
they  were  summarily  comprehended  in  the  town  of  Oilman- 
ton. 


MINISTERS'  PAY  IN  OLD  TIMES. 

Isaac  Smith  was  the  first  settled  minister  in  Gilmanton, 
New  Hampshire.  The  town  had  "hired  a  preacher  "  before, 
and  William  Parsons  had  been  with  the  people  some  ten 
years,  being  hired  from  year  to  year.  But  in  1774  they  called 
Mr.  Smith  after  he  had  been  well  tested  by  preaching  some 
months  in  Jotham  Oilman's  barn.  A  town  meeting  was  then 
held,  and  it  was  voted  to  give  Isaac  Smith  a  call  to  become 
the  settled  minister,  and  to  give  him  ^50,  lawful  money,  for 
his  salary  the  first  year,  increasing  ^5  yearly  until  it  became 
_£75,  which  was  to  remain  his  full  salary  annually  so  long  as 
he  continued  in  the  ministry,  he  reserving  three  Sabbaths  each 
year  to  visit  his  friends. 

The  town  also  voted  to  give  him  ^75  toward  hfs  settlement 
if  he  accepted  the  call,  one  third  in  money,  and  two  thirds  in 
labor  and  materials  toward  his  house  when  he  builds. 

But  there  was  one  more  point  to  be  cleared  up  before  he 
could  see  his  way  to  accept  the  call,  and  another  town  meet 
ing  was  called,  when  it  was  voted  that  "  Mr.  Smith's  whole 
salary  should  be  continued  to  him  in  sickness,  if  necessary." 
This  form  of  expression  was  derived  from  his  own  letter  of 
acceptance,  in  which  he  called  their  attention  to  the  fact 
that  no  provision  was  made  for  him  in  case  of  his  sickness, 
and  he  said  he  should  expect  them  to  pay  him  his  full 
salary  or  "  such  a  part  of  it  as  shall  be  judged  a  competent 


88  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

support  by  disinterested  persons."    To  this  they  agreed,  and 
he  was  settled  Nov.  30,  1774. 

Three  several  and  distinct  provisions  are  made  here  that 
are  worth  being  noted  in  these  later  days  on  which  the  end 
of  the  world  has  come. 

1.  Mr.  Smith  was  manifestly  settled  for  life.     His  salary 
was  to  be  continued  "  so  long  as  he  continued  in  the  min 
istry."     They  were  not  bound  to  pay  him  unless  he  continued 
to  be  a  minister.     If  he  became  unsound  in  the  faith,  or 
immoral  in  life,  the  same  men  who  put  him  into  the  min 
istry  could  put  him  out,  and  the  people  would  be  released 
from  the  contract.     But  so  long  as  he  lived  in  the  ministry 
they  were  bound  to  support  him. 

2.  They  were  to  support  him  whether  he  could  preach  or 
not.     If  sickness  overtook  him,  or  the  infirmities  of  old  age 
came  on,  they  were  not  to  turn  him  out  like  a  superannuated 
horse  to  starve  on  the  common.     This  contract  they  carried 
out,  and  having  labored  with  them  forty-three  years,  he  died 
among  them  at  the  age  of  73 ;  and  they  built  him  a  tomb. 

3.  The  people  at  the  outset,  and  before  he  was  settled, 
voted  in  the  terms  of  the  call  that  he  might  take  an  annual 
recess  or  vacation  of  three  weeks.     That  is  a  fact  worth 
looking  at  a  moment.     It  is  not  a  modern  invention  this 
shutting  up  the  church  for  successive  Sabbaths  while  the 
minister  goes  aside  awhile  for  rest.     Call  it  a  time  to  go  and 
visit  his  friends,  or  to  go  fishing,  or  to  the  mountains,  as 
long  ago  as  before  the  Revolution,  which  is  our  line  of  demar 
cation  between  ancient  and  modern,  the  good  people  of  New 
England — of  Gilmanton  at  least — gave  and  the  minister 
took  a  vacation.     It  was  good  for  him  and  it  was  good  for 
them.     It  is  no  new  thing.     And  there  is  no  evil  in  it.     In 
the  country  a  house  of  worship  is  not  closed  because  the 
preacher  is  absent.     We  used  to  call  it  a  "  deacon's  meeting  " 
when  an  elder  or  deacon  led  the  service.     At  such  a  meeting 
in  my  own  church,  one  of  the  elders  took  the  desk,  and, 
opening  the  hymn  book,  said  :  "  Our  pastor  is  absent :  let  us 
sing  to   his  praise  the  94th  psalm."     At  such  services  the 
prayers  were  offered  by  the  praying  men,  and  a  printed  sermon 


MINISTERS'   PA  Y  IN  OLD    TIMES.  89 

was  read  aloud  by  some  one  selected  for  the  purpose.  This 
good  practice  is  still  pursued  in  many  places.  Our  city 
churches  may  unite,  two  or  three,  in  such  a  service,  or  they 
may  readily  find  temporary  supplies  in  the  pastor's  absence. 
It  is  not  true  that  preaching  is  the  only  object  for  which  a 
church  is  opened,  Nor  is  it  the  chief  purpose.  The  wor 
ship  of  God  is  the  service,  and  the  preaching  is  part  of  it,  or 
an  aid  to  it.  Our  Protestant  ancestors  swung  away  from  this 
truth  when  they  preferred  to  call  God's  house  a  "  meeting 
house."  That  is  not  a  bad  name  for  it,  if  its  meaning  is 
that  there  they  meet  God  and  one  another.  But  if  it  be  used 
as  a  rendezvous  simply,  where  people  meet  to  hear  a  sermon, 
then  the  true  idea  of  "divine  service  "  is  repudiated. 

All  of  which  means  that  the  minister  is  not  necessary  to 
public,  acceptable  and  profitable  worship.  His  work  is 
arduous,  and  it  is  for  his  profit  and  that  of  the  people  that  he 
take  a  vacation,  "to  visit  his  friends,"  or  to  go  into  the  woods 
or  to  the  sea-side  or  across  the  sea.  But  the  people  are  not 
deprived  of  the  privilege  nor  released  from  the  duty  of  pub 
lic  worship  because  the  preacher  is  gone  away.  He  is  not  a 
priest.  He  is  a  presbyter,  an  elder,  a  teacher.  He  offers  no 
sacrifice  as  the  Jewish  priest  did,  and  as  the  Romanist  pre 
tends  to.  Once  for  all  our  Great  High  Priest  made  atone 
ment.  There  is  no  more  sacrifice  for  sin. 

It  is  right  for  ministers  to  retire  for  a  season  :  it  is  wrong 
for  people  to  neglect  public  worship  because  there  is  to  be 
no  preaching. 

But  we  must  get  back  to  Gilmanton  and  their  pastor,  Isaac 
Smith.  He  was  settled  in  1774,  and  for  many  years  afterwards 
things  went  on  smoothly.  By  and  by  other  denominations 
began  to  take  root  and  grow,  where  the  Congregational  ists 
had  been  the  "standing  order."  The  people  became  slack 
in  paying  their  minister  what  they  had  promised,  and  he 
took  the  law  on  them.  They  had  made  the  contract  when 
they  were  in  the  capacity  of  a  town ;  now  it  had  come  to 
pass  that  they  were  only  one  of  the  churches  in  the  town. 
They  appointed  a  committee  to  defend  the  suit  or  to  settle 
it  with  Mr,  Smith.  They  settled  with  him.  Many  thought 


90  IREN&US  LETTERS, 

he  was  hard  on  them,  but  as  he  asked  only  what  he  had  a 
right  to  demand,  all  sensible  people  approved  of  his  course, 
and  he  retained  the  respect  of  the  community  to  the  end. 

The  large  and  handsome  house  in  which  he  lived  and  died 
is  now  the  abode  of  bats  and  owls.  Great  shade  trees  stand 
in  the  front  yard,  and  the  ancient  shrubbery,  vines  and  flowers, 
untended,  grow  in  luxuriant  disorder,  outliving  the  genera 
tions  of  men. 


DR.  MURRAY:  BISHOP  HUGHES. 

The  sad  and  sudden  death  of  Thomas  Chalmers  Murray 
revives  the  memory  of  his  father,  one  of  the  warmest  friends 
of  my  life.  Not  many  years  ago  Nicholas  Murray,  "  Kirwan," 
was  the  most  popular  and  perhaps  the  most  useful  writer  in 
the  columns  of  the  New  York  Observer.  I  cannot  think  of 
him  without  a  smile  on  my  heart,  even  in  sadness  on  the  death 
of  a  noble  young  man,  his  well-beloved  son,  whom  I  knew 
in  his  infancy. 

The  first  time  that  Dr.  Murray  came  to  my  house  he  had 
with  him  a  beautiful  boy  nine  years  old ;  shortly  afterward 
the  child  sickened  and  died.  I  hastened  to  his  home.  In 
the  hall  he  met  me,  and  fell  on  my  neck  and  wailed  in  the 
anguish  of  a  strong  man  bowed  with  great  grief.  Six  times 
the  hand  of  his  Heavenly  Father  put  this  bitter  cup  to  the 
loving  father's  lips.  That  was  sorrow  piled  on  sorrow :  clouds 
returning  after  the  rain  :  yet  was  his  great  soul  strong  in 
God.  The  prevailing  feature  of  his  character,  by  which  he 
was  better  known  than  any  other,  was  his  overflowing,  genial, 
hearty  good-humor.  As  he  made  his  mark  on  the  times,  and 
commanded  wide  respect  in  the  world  and  the  Church,  it  is 
to  the  honor  of  religion  that  his  walk  and  his  conversation 
compelled  all  men  who  met  him  to  know  that  the  highest 
type  of  the  Christian  is  reflected  in  the  cheerful,  useful 
man. 

When  he  was  called  to  Elizabethtown,  one  man  only  did 


DR.    MURRAY:  BISHOP  HUGHES.  91 

not  concur  in  the  cordial  invitation.  After  the  pastor  was 
settled,  and  had  been  preaching  some  weeks,  the  dissatisfied 
parishioner  said  to  him  :  "  Mr.  Murray,  I  hope  you  understand 
that  I  have  nothing  against  you  personally,  but  I  do  not  like 
your  preaching." 

"  Well,  I  agree  with  you  perfectly,"  said  the  pastor ;  "I  do 
not  think  much  of  it  myself." 

The  man  was  so  palpably  met  by  this  remark,  that  he  gave 
in  on  the  spot,  and  they  were  the  best  of  friends  ever  after. 

Both  of  his  parents  were  Irish  Roman  Catholics.  Many 
a  time  in  his  childhood  he  had  crept  on  his  knees  into  a 
darkened  room  in  his  father's  house  to  confess  his  sins  to  a 
priest,  and  the  nonsense,  inconsistency  and  absurdity  of  the 
system  of  religion  in  which  he  was  instructed  appeared  to 
him  in  his  childhood.  When  he  came  to  this  country,  and 
fell  under  better  influences,  he  became  intelligently  a  con 
verted  man.  I  was  walking  with  him  one  day,  when  he 
related  the  experiences  of  his  early  life,  and  the  facts  that 
impressed  his  young  mind  with  the  folly  of  the  Roman 
religion.  Our  walk  ended,  and  as  we  put  our  feet  on  the 
doorstep  of  my  house,  I  said  to  him  : 

"  Write  this  all  out,  and  let  us  print  it." 

He  had  not  thought  of  it,  but  struck  by  the  suggestion,  he 
encouraged  me  to  believe  that  he  would.  This  was  the 
origin  of  the  "  KIRWAN  LETTERS."  He  addressed  them  to 
Bishop  Hughes,  like  himself  a  native-born  Irishman.  They 
were  printed  weekly  in  the  New  York  Observer,  the  first 
number  appearing  February  6,  1847.  They  made  a  greater 
excitement  than  any  series  of  papers  in  the  religious  press  of 
our  times.  They  were  read  by  Romanists  as  well  as  Protest 
ants.  Meetings  were  held  weekly  in  this  city  attended  by 
Romanists,  when  one  of  these  letters  was  read  and  discussed. 
The  truth  of  all  the  facts  was  obvious  to  all  who  heard. 
They  knew  how  it  was  themselves.  They  had  been  there. 
The  wit  of  the  letters  was  Irish  wit,  and  they  relished  it  as 
they  do  potheen  at  home  and  whiskey  here.  Bishop  Hughes 
was  bothered  immensely.  On  all  hands  he  was  challenged  to 
answer  them.  Finally  he  was  goaded  into  the  ring.  He 


9*  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

began  a  series  of  letters  in  reply,  but  in  the  midst  of  them 
he  was  called  to  Halifax !  This  was  handled  cleverly  by  Kir- 
wan  in  a  second  series,  in  which  he  pursued  the  subject  and 
the  Bishop  with  a  vigor  that  was  almost  ferocious.  It  was 
impossible  to  answer  him.  If  any  one  was  equal  to  that  task 
Bishop  Hughes  was.  He  was  head  and  shoulders  above  any 
man  of  his  sect  in  this  country.  And  he  was  witty  as  well 
as  wise.  The  New  England  Society  invited  him  to  their 
annual  dinner.  Many  thought  it  an  outrage  to  ask  him. 
But  he  paid  them  off  better  than  their  critics  could  have  done, 
telling  them  that  his  sensations  on  being  there  were  like 
those  of  Pat :  riding  home  drunk  in  his  cart  he  got  sound 
asleep :  some  wags  stopped  his  horse,  and  took  him  away, 
leaving  Pat  to  his  dreams  in  the  cart.  Waking  in  the  morn 
ing  and  rubbing  his  eyes,  with  a  dim  memory  of  the  night 
before,  he  says :  "  Be  I  Pat,  or  be  I  not  ?  If  I  am  Pat,  I've 
lost  a  horse ;  if  I  be  not  Pat,  I  have  found  a  cart." 

The  Bishop's  audience  laughed,  of  course ;  but  it  was 
a  modified  mirth,  that  came  very  near  the  other  thing. 

Bishop  Hughes  rarely  had  the  worst  of  it  in  debate  or 
dinner-table  talk.  A  new  New  York  lawyer  rather  got  him 
once.  It  was  in  those  good  old  virtuous  days  we  hear  so 
much  of,  when  the  Common  Council  frequently  gave  great 
dinners  at  the  city's  expense,  and  they  were  usually  given  on 
Blackwell's  Island,  in  the  midst  of  the  criminals  and  paupers 
who  are  there  lodged  and  fed.  At  one  of  these  dinners 
Bishop  Hughes  was  a  guest,  and  he  had  spoken  of  his  deep 
interest  in  the  people  there  confined.  N.  B.  Blunt,  Esq.,  rose 
and  proposed  a  toast:  "  Bishop  Hughes,  the  chief  pastor  of 
this  Island !" 

Then,  as  now,  the  Bishop's  people  furnished  the  "  larger 
half"  of  the  inhabitants;  members  confirmed  in  the  church 
in  their  youth  and  now  doubly  confirmed  in  pauperism  and 
crime.  It  was  so  then,  is  now,  and  always  will  be,  until  the 
second  reformation.  Dr.  Murray  saw  the  relations  of  Roman 
ism  to  the  poverty,  vice  and  misery  of  the  people,  and  his 
letters  brought  these  truths  so  fearfully  to  the  sunlight  as  to 
startle  the  public  mind.  When  the  first  series  of  those  let- 


DR.   MURRAY:  BISHOP  HUGHES.  93 

ters  was  finished,  I  took  them  to  Mr.  John  F.  Trow,  who 
printed  them  in  a  little  book  which  could  be  sold  for 
ten  or  fifteen  cents,  and  thousands  on  thousands  of  them 
were  sold.  They  had  already  become  famous  in  other  lands. 
In  Ireland  they  were  immediately  reprinted  with  notes,  by 
the  late  Dr.  S.  O.  Edgar,  author  of  "  Edgar's  Variations  of 
Popery."  They  went  in  Ireland  like  wild-fire.  In  districts 
where  Scriptural  schools  were  enjoyed  the  Roman  Catholics 
read  these  letters  eagerly.  And  many  believed  when  they 
read.  They  were  translated  into  the  French  and  German 
languages,  and  then  in  the  East  they  were  rendered  by  the 
missionaries  into  Oriental  tongues,  until  their  lines  went  out 
into  all  the  earth. 

It  was  not  denied  that  Nicholas  Murray  was  the<*uthor. 
His  signature  was  borrowed  from  an  Irish  preacher  famous 
once,  and  of  whom  a  very  entertaining  sketch  might  be 
made.  But  there  were  many  little  incidents  in  the  letters 
that  revealed  the  authorship,  and  the  pastor  of  Elizabeth 
became  suddenly  as  famous  in  this  country  as  Goldsmith  or  the 
other  Smith  whose  first  name  was  Sidney,  were  in  their  time. 
He  was  sent  for  everywhere  to  preach.  He  was  not  an 
orator,  and  those  who  for  the  first  time  heard  him  missed 
the  brilliant  sparkles  of  that  keen  wit  and  broad  humor  which 
illumined  his  letters.  But  I  have  seen  the  old  Broadway 
Tabernacle  packed  and  overflowing  by  eager  multitudes 
thrilled  by  the  lofty,  burning  and  mighty  words  of  truth 
with  which  he  denounced  the  great  anti-Christian  rebellion 
of  Rome.  In  the  height  of  this  sudden  popularity  he  took 
his  seat  in  the  General  Assembly  at  Pittsburgh  in  1849. 
Named  for  the  Moderator's  chair,  no  one  was  thought  of  in 
competition  with  him,  and  he  was  elected  by  acclamation. 

I  had  strong  hope  that  his  son,  who  bore  the  name  of 
Scotland's  greatest  preacher,  Thomas  Chalmers,  would  per 
petuate  his  father's  fame  and  usefulness.  Like  his  father,  he 
was  a  graduate  of  Williams  College,  the  one  in  the  year  1826, 
the  other  in  1869.  Displaying  a  fine  taste  and  great  facility 
in  the  acquisition  of  languages,  he  became  a  remarkable 
linguist,  and  was  filling  such  a  chair  in  the  young  but  already 


94  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

celebrated  Johns  Hopkins  University  in  Baltimore,  when  he 
was  called  to  die  in  the  very  spring  of  his  life,  and  is  now 
laid  by  the  side  of  his  father  and  mother  in  the  old  cemetery 
of  the  First  church  of  Elizabeth. 

While  the  helm  of  the  Universe  is  held  by  Infinite  Wisdom, 
Love  and  Power,  I  have  not  the  shade  of  a  doubt  that  ALL  is 
WELL.  But  there  are  many  things  hard  io  be  understood, 
and  I  am  glad  to  believe  that  what  we  know  not  now  we 
shall  hereafter.  Dr.  Sprague  came  home  to  find  on  his  table 
a  telegram  saying,  DR.  MURRAY  DIED  LAST  NIGHT.  It  was 
like  the  fall  of  a  thunderbolt.  The  same  bolt  fell  on  me  and 
I  was  stunned.  He  was  not  old  when  he  died  with  the  battle- 
harness  on,  but  he  cried,  "  My  work  is  done,"  and  fell  into 
the  arrps  of  death.  And  now  his  son,  in  the  morning,  full  of 
promise  and  hope,  is  taken  away !  The  more  who  die,  the 
more  for  them  to  do  who  live.  Let  us  put  on  the  whole 
armor  of  God  :  fight  the  good  fight :  be  ready  always  to  be 
offered,  and  so  much  the  more  as  we  see  the  day  approaching. 


TWO  HOURS  IN  COURT. 

An  errand  of  mercy  led  me  into  the  Court  of  General  Ses 
sions,  Judge  Cowing  on  the  bench.  Mr.  Russell,  the  Assist 
ant  District- Attorney,  was  so  kind  as  to  bring  me  within  the 
bar,  and  give  me  a  seat  where  I  could  see,  hear  and  apprehend 
what  was  going  on. 

The  room  was  filled  with  a  motley  crowd ;  most  of  the 
people  were  friends  of  prisoners,  witnesses  summoned,  jurors, 
or  parties  interested  in  the  cases  to  be  heard.  No  trial  of 
great  public  interest  was  on  hand,  and  the  company  was  there 
fore  only  the  daily  gathering  in  this  hall  of  justice.  Mr.  Rus 
sell  had  the  calendar  of  cases  in  his  hand,  a  long  and  fearful 
list,  and  as  he  called  one  after  another,  the  lawyer  in  behalf 
of  the  prisoner  came  forward,  and  he  and  Mr.  Russell  arranged 
for  its  disposal.  They  were  all  criminal  cases.  But  one 
class  of  lawyers  appeared,  and  only  three  of  them  in  all  the 


TWO  HOURS  IN  COURT.  *   95 

twenty  or  more  cases.  These  were  lawyers  whose  names  are 
familiar  in  police  reports,  men  employed  by  criminals,  and 
who  have  made  large  wealth,  as  well  as  a  certain  reputation, 
by  their  practice  in  these  courts.  Yet  all  the  criminals  wore 
badges  of  poverty.  This  was  something  to  think  of.  They 
could  find  money  to  make  lawyers  rich,  but  they  were  very 
poor  themselves.  There  were  no  old  criminals.  It  was  dread 
ful  to  observe  the  youth  of  the  prisoners,  male  and  female. 
With  only  one  or  two  exceptions,  they  were  under  twenty 
years  of  age. 

Three  young  roughs  stood  up  before  the  Judge,  pleaded 
guilty  to  a  charge  of  assaulting  an  officer,  and  one  of  them 
made  a  little  set  speech  in  extenuation  of  their  offence.  They 
were  sent  to  prison  for  three  months,  and  went  off  as  unaffected 
as  if  they  had  been  dismissed  from  school.  Two  women  were 
arraigned  for  stealing;  coarse,  hardened,  vulgar  creatures; 
they  confessed  their  crimes  and  went  up  for  six  months. 

A  tall,  angular,  ugly-looking  woman  was  put  to  the  bar. 
"  A  professional  pickpocket,"  Mr.  Russell  said  to  me,  as  she 
stood  up.  One  of  her  friends  brought  to  her  a  three-year- 
old  child,  which  she  took  in  her  arms,  and  pleading  guilty, 
began  to  cry  fearfully,  if  not  tearfully.  When  she  was  sen 
tenced  to  prison  the  cries  were  redoubled  and  the  child  clung 
around  her  neck,  resisting  the  efforts  of  the  officer  to  take  it 
off.  But  she  was  obliged  to  part  with  it, — I  think  it  was  a 
baby  borrowed  for  the  occasion, — and  she  disappeared. 

So  far  every  one — and  I  have  mentioned  but  a  few — had 
confessed,  and  there  was  no  need  of  a  trial.  But  the  pressure 
of  cases  was  so  great,  and  such  was  the  variety  of  circum 
stances  to  be  looked  into,  even  when  the  parties  pleaded 
guilty,  that  I  said  to  Mr.  Russell :  "  I  wonder  you  do  not  go 
crazy :  how  it  is  possible  to  carry  all  these  matters  in  mind, 
and  be  ready  to  speak  and  act  intelligently  in  each  case, 
passes  my  comprehension." 

I  admired  his  patience,  humanity,  self-control,  and  judg 
ment,  but  had  no  wish  to  change  places  with  him. 

Judge  Cowing  seemed  to  be  the  right  man  in  the  right 
place.  Calm,  judicial,  prompt,  blending  the  kinder  feelings 


96  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

of  the  man  with  the  firm  purpose  of  ihe  judge,  he  made  care 
ful  inquiries  into  the  circumstances  surrounding  the  criminals 
who  admitted  their  guilt,  and  meted  out  the  penalty  with 
intelligent  discrimination,  having  an  eye  to  the  welfare  of 
the  community  and  also  of  the  prisoner. 

Two  young  men  were  arraigned  for  highway  robbery :  they 
were  about  18  years  old;  charged  with  seizing  a  man  in  the 
night,  and  robbing  him  of  his  watch.  Their  plea  was  not 
guilty.  A  jury  was  called  and  sworn  in.  They  were  all  very 
respectable  men  in  appearance ;  not  one  of  them  unsuitable 
to  hear  and  decide  on  the  evidence  in  such  a  case.  The  com 
plainant  was  the  first  witness,  and  he  testified,  in  German- 
English,  that  he  was  going  home  from  a  wedding  party,  where 
he  left  his  wife  and  his  hat,  being  somewhat  excited  with 
liquor ;  he  was  set  upon  by  these  two  prisoners  at  the  bar, 
who  robbed  him  of  his  watch :  he  seized  them  both :  held 
one  of  them,  and  the  other  fled,  leaving  a  portion  of  his  coat 
in  his  hand.  Calling  out  for  help,  he  was  heard  by  an  officer, 
who  came,  meeting  the  escaped  robber  flying.  Him  he  cap 
tured  and  brought  along,  and  coming  up,  took  the  other  also 
into  custody.  The  watch  was  found  near  the  spot  where  he 
caught  the  runaway.  This  was  one  side  of  the  story,  con 
firmed  by  the  officer.  The  two  rogues  were  examined,  and 
swore  that  they  were  peacefully  walking  the  street  when 
this  half-drunken  man,  hatless  and  coatless,  stumbled  against 
them,  wanted  to  fight,  did  get  into  a  fight,  during  which  his 
watch  was  pulled  off :  they  left  him  and  he  called  the  police : 
an  officer  appeared  and  took  them  into  custody.  This  was 
the  other  side  of  the  story.  Their  lawyer  made  a  speech  very 
like  those  we  read  in  books,  where  high-sounding  words  and 
platitudes  are  made  to  take  the  place  of  argument  and  sense. 
He  sought  to  impress  the  jury  with  the  fact  that  this  case 
involved  the  rights  and  liberties  of  two  American  citizens 
whose  intelligence  and  virtues  were  entitled  to  respect :  that 
there  was  no  evidence  against  them  but  the  story  of  a  drunken 
vagabond  who  did  not  know  at  the  time  whether  he  was  afoot 
or  on  horseback :  and  if  on  such  testimony  they  were  to  be 
sent  to  State's  Prison,  then  Magna  Charta,  Fourth  of  July  and 


TWO  HOURS  IN  COURT.  97 

the  Constitution,  were  all  in  vain.  He  did  not  say  these 
words,  but  that  was  the  drift,  and  perhaps  mine  is  the  better 
speech.  Mr.  Russell  followed  with  a  brief,  lucid,  unimpas- 
sioned  recital  of  the  facts  as  proved :  exhibited  the  coat  and 
the  fragment  left  by  the  flying  assailant :  read  the  law  and 
decisions  explaining  the  grade  of  the  crime,  and  left  the 
case.  The  Judge  charged  the  jury  with  clearness  and  brevity : 
they  retired,  and  soon  returned  with  a  verdict  of  guilty.  The 
Judge  sentenced  them  each  to  the  State  Prison  for  ten  years. 

Mrs.  Dr.  Sayre  was  walking  in  the  street  a  few  days  ago, 
when  a  young  man,  seeing  a  pocketbook  in  her  hand,  snatched 
it  and  ran.  He  was  pursued  and  caught  and  now  was  brought 
to  the  bar.  He  pleaded  guilty.  His  crime  is  one  of  the 
highest  except  that  of  murder.  What  would  be  his  fate  ?  A 
gentleman,  in  whose  employment  he  had  been  four  years, 
came  forward  and  said  that  the  lad  had  been  perfectly  trust 
worthy  all  that  time  and  was  without  a  fault.  For  want  of 
work  he  had  dismissed  him  and  others,  and  now  for  months 
he  had  been  without  employment.  It  further  appeared  that 
his  old  mother  had  depended  on  his  wages,  and  when  these 
failed  they  were  utterly  destitute.  She  had  urged  him  to 
pawn  the  few  things  they  had,  but  he  refused,  and  daily 
traversed  the  streets  seeking  work  in  vain.  Desperate  and 
reckless,  he  saw  this  purse  in  a  lady's  hand,  snatched  it  and 
ran.  Dr.  Sayre  was  present  and  did  not  wish  to  urge  extreme 
measures.  Mr.  Russell  was  satisfied  that  it  was  a  case  for 
judicial  mercy.  The  boy  might  be  saved  if  not  sent  to  prison, 
but  that  would  finish  his  ruin.  His  mother  stood  up  by  her 
boy  and,  with  flowing  tears,  tried  to  plead  for  mercy.  No 
one  in  court  could  refrain  from  weeping.  Literally  I  do  not 
think  there  was  a  dry  eye.  Judge  Cowing  set  before  the  boy 
the  enormity  of  his  crime,  gave  him  earnest  and  wholesome 
counsel,  and  consigned  him  to  the  Elmira  Reformatory. 

"  Thank  you,  Judge,"  cried  the  poor  mother,  as  she  turned 
away  brokenhearted,  but  glad  to  hear  that  her  son  was  not 
to  go  to  State  Prison. 

I  said  to  the  Judge  :  "  How  unjust  we  often  are  in  speaking 
of  your  decisions!  had  I  read  in  the  daily  papers  the  simple 


9%  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

mention  of  the  fact  that  you  had  let  off  this  young  robber 
with  a  commitment  to  the  reformatory,  I  would  have  thought 
justice  was  not  done.  But  I  see  that  it  was  wise  as  well  as 
merciful,  just  to  society  and  kind  to  the  criminal." 

"It  is  often  very  hard,"  he  said,  "to  determine  what  is  for 
the  best,  where  discretion  is  left  to  us,  but  we  do  as  well  as 
we  can." 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  I  am  glad  I  am 
not  on  the  bench." 

"  I  wish  you  would  often  come  here,"  he  said,  as  I  left  the 
court. 

This  was  a  very  instructive  and  impressive  scene.  It  was 
a  revelation.  Sermons  could  be  made  out  of  it.  These  young 
men,  already  hardened  in  crime:  women  thieves  :  children  in 
the  midst  of  vice.  And  this  all  about  us :  the  air  we  breathe 
is  laden  with  the  crimes  of  our  fellow-beings.  Is  there  no 
balm  in  Gilead  :  is  there  no  remedy  here  ? 


A  DOUGHNATION  PARTY. 

Perhaps  you  have  not  heard  of  such  a  party.  A  surprise 
party,  a  wedding  party,  even  a  dancing  party,  you  may  have 
attended.  And  it  would  not  be  strange  that  you  are  familiar 
with  donation  or  giving  visits. 

When  a  lady  remarked  to  me  a  few  days  ago  that  she  had 
attended  a  doughnut-an  party,  the  name  was  new  to  me. 
But  she  was  kind  to  my  dulness,  and  explained  its  hidden 
meaning. 

There  be  many  kind  of  nuts  in  the  world.  The  butternut 
is  so  called  because  of  the  oil  which  abounds  in  it.  It  was 
once  called  the  oilnut.  The  chestrmt  is  named  from  the  cyst, 
chest  or  case  in  which  the  nut  is  enclosed,  the  burr  so  called. 
The  walnut  is  not  a  w«//-nut,  but  comes  from  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  ivalh-knuta,  walnut,  meaning  foreign  nut,  as  it  is  of 
Persian  descent.  Then  there  is  the  doughnut,  which  groweth 


A   DOUGHNATION  PARTY.  99 

not  on  a  tree  like  unto  the  fruits  aforesaid ;  but  a  woman 
taking  dough  prepared  as  for  the  oven,  and  cutting  it  into 
shapes  that  please  her,  or  more  frequently  making  it  into  the 
form  of  a  ball,  or  a  round  nut,  of  such  size  as  seemeth  good 
unto  her,  droppeth  it  into  boiling  fat,  lard  or  oil,  and  when  it 
is  sufficiently  cooked,  she  taketh  it  forth  with  a  skimmer. 
Various  are  the  qualities  of  these  doughnuts,  according  to 
the  amount  of  shortening  and  sweetening.  They  are  of  Dutch 
origin,  as  the  walnut  is  Oriental,  and  the  cruller,  and  oly- 
koek,  are  varieties  of  the  New  England  doughnut,  which 
holds  its  own  against  the  world.  Mr.  Irving  has  embalmed 
the  Dutch  preparation,  and  the  immortality  he  gives  to  what 
he  puts  into  his  books  shows  it  is  not  true  that  "  you  can't  eat 
your  cake  and  keep  it  too." 

Fifty  years  ago,  more  or  less,  rather  more  than  less,  the 
annual  giving-visit  was  a  great  affair  in  the  country  congre 
gation.  The  minister's,  salary  was  always  of  the  smallest,  and 
there  was  a  fond  delusion  among  the  people  that  they  helped 
the  matter  greatly  by  afflicting  the  pastor  once  a  year  with 
a  spinning-bee  or  donation  party.  The  term  spinning-bee 
has  so  long  been  out  of  the  speech  of  people,  that  you  do  not 
know  what  it  means.  In  good  old  times,  when  much  linen 
and  woollen  were  wrought  on  looms  at  home,  and  great  fac 
tories  were  few  and  far  between,  every  farmer's  wife  had  her 
spinning-wheel.  And  as  in  the  days  of  the  Psalmist  a  man 
was  famous  according  to  his  ability  to  chop  trees,  so  in  my 
youth  a  woman  sought  and  found  renown  by  the  smoothness 
of  the  thread  she  could  spin,  and  the  elegance  of  the  fabric 
that  came  from  her  loom.  The  wisest  of  men  celebrated 
such  a  woman  when  he  said  :  "  She  seeketh  wool  and  flax,  and 
worketh  willingly  with  her  hands.  She  layeth  her  hands  to 
the  spindle,  and  her  hands  hold  the  distaff.  Shemaketh  fine 
linen."  And  the  Roman  matron,  Lucretia,  at  work  among 
her  maids  was  more  royally  employed  than  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  arraying  herself  in  all  her  glory. 

Therefore,  when  the  annual  giving-visit  to  the  poor  pastor 
was  made,  the  women  brought  of  their  store  of  thread  or 
yarn,  or  of  the  cloth  they  had  made,  while  the  men  brought 


160  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

wood  and  oats,  and  such  articles  as  were  more  in  their  line 
of  production.  As  the  visit  included  a  supper,  it  was  expected 
that  the  women  would  provide  the  supplies,  and  foremost 
among  the  provisions  for  the  feast  were  the  inevitable  and 
abounding  doughnuts.  As  everybody  had  them  at  home, 
they  were  no  treat  to  anybody  at  the  party,  and  it  came  to 
pass  that,  of  the  bushels  of  the  article  furnished,  few  were 
consumed  on  the  occasion.  Indeed  many  brought  them  as 
their  present  to  the  pastor's  wife  !  Ah  !  well  do  I  remember 
how  long  those  unsavory  lumps  of  dough  and  grease  lay  on 
the  table  in  the  dull  days  that  followed  the  jolly  party.  We 
had  doughnuts  for  breakfast ;  doughnuts  haunted  the  dinner ; 
and  doughnuts  eked  out  the  supper.  It  was  doughnuts  to 
take  to  school,  and  doughnuts  when  we  came  home  hungry, 
and  doughn-uts  when  we  wanted  to  eat  before  going  to  bed. 
What  became  of  the  woollen  and  linen  goods  I  knew  not,  but 
a  lively  sense  of  the  prevailing  presence  and  power  of  dough 
nuts  remained  many  days  after  the  party,  and  has  not  wholly 
disappeared  in  the  lapse  of  half  a  century. 

We  took  an  account  of  stock  the  morning  after  the  visit, 
and  estimating  the  goods  at  the  givers'  valuation,  the  whole 
thing  might  be  reckoned  as  worth  a  hundred  dollars.  Half 
that  sum  in  money  could  have  been  used  by  the  minister  so 
as  to  be  of  more  service  than  all  the  produce  of  the  visit, 
including  doughnuts.  It  was,  of  course,  the  prevalence  of 
this  last  named  commodity,  over  and  above  the  rest,  that 
gave  the  name,  Doughnation  Visit.  By  and  by,  for  short,  it 
was  written  Ztonation.  Hence  we  view  the  gradual  improve 
ment  in  spelling  according  to  Prof.  March,  LL.  D.,  of  La  Fay- 
ette  College.  Doughnation  is  now  Donation,  as  walhknuta  is 
walnut.  The  world  moves. 

The  season  of  the  year  is  at  hand  when  people  meditate 
giving  visits  to  the  pastor.  These  may  not  be  as  common 
as  they  were  fifty  years  ago,  but  they  are  far  from  being  out 
of  fashion.  They  had  in  old  times,  and  they  have  now,  this 
one  thing  specially  to  commend  them — they  bring  the  people 
together  socially  and  make  them  personally  acquainted. 
Breaking  bread  together  is  a  great  bond  of  union,  and  city 


A    DOUGHNATION  PARTY.  IOI 

congregations  have  done  a  wholesome  thing  in  providing 
church  parlors  where  all  the  people  may  meet  on  common 
ground.  It  is  not  the  eating  and  drinking  that  makes  the 
party  useful,  though  that  is  something,  and  not  to  be  omitted. 
It  is  the  meeting  face  to  face  and  hand  to  hand  of  one  family 
in  Christ,  members  one  of  another  because  of  Him.  Such 
reunions  were  more  common  in  the  primitive  church  than 
they  are  now,  and  we  may  well  go  back  to  those  days  for  the 
model  of  a  working  church.  There  was  a  Christian  socialism 
then  prevalent  that  fused  all  the  members  into  one  body. 
We  have  lost  the  spirit  of  those  times,  and  have  suffered  by 
the  loss.  In  many  congregations  there  are  strangers  who 
are  likely  to  remain  strangers,  for  they  never  speak  nor  are 
spoken  to  in  the  intercourse  of  years.  Whose  fault  it  is,  it 
may  not  be  easy  to  say.  But  it  is  a  fault  that  ought  to  be 
corrected,  and  church  sociables  are  in  the  line  of  reform. 

I  am  not  disposed  to  make  light  of  giving-visits,  even  if 
their  purpose  is  to  aid  the  pastor.  It  is  easier  for  people  in 
many  parts  of  the  country  to  give  anything  they  raise  than 
money.  It  is  hard  to  raise  money.  When  they  have  paid 
the  promised  salary,  it  is  a  pleasing  duty  to  increase  the  min 
ister's  income  by  bringing  to  his  house  of  the  fruits  of  their 
labor.  There  is  beauty  in  it.  It  is  a  heart  offering.  And 
its  effect,  beyond  the  value  of  the  gifts,  is  to  show  the  kindly 
feelings  of  the  people,  and  so  to  cement  their  union  to  the 
pastor  and  his  household. 

But  there  is  no  need  of  giving  a  man  two  or  three  bushels 
of  doughnuts  at  once.  And  this  is  also  to  say  that  the  lack 
of  judgment  in  these  promiscuous  gifts  is  fearfully  amusing 
Things  utterly  useless  in  the  household,  and  that  cannot  be 
sold  or  exchanged,  are  often  poured  in,  until  there  is  no  room 
to  receive  them. 

In  a  sweet  Swiss  village  where  I  was  sojourning,  a  wed 
ding  was  coming  off.  I  found  it  was  customary  for  the  near 
friends  of  the  bride  to  make  out  a  list  of  things  which  were 
likely  to  be  the  most  acceptable  as  gifts,  and  each  friend 
intending  to  give  anything  put  his  or  her  name  down  for 
some  one  of  these  things.  Sometimes  several  persons  united 


102  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

in  the  purchase  of  an  article  more  costly  than  one  alone  would 
give.  Thus  all  were  sure  that  their  gifts  would  fit  in,  and  be 
useful  as  well  as  ornamental,  helpful  and  pleasing. 


HABITS,  ESPECIALLY  BAD  HABITS. 

"  Habits  are  soon  assumed,  but  when  we  strive 
To  strip  them  off,  'tis  being  flayed  alive." 

— Couiper. 

Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  who  has  recently  assumed  the  Presidency 
of  the  New  York  Union  Theological  Seminary,  is  in  the  habit 
— and  this  is  a  good  habit :  all  his  habits  are  good  so  far  as 
I  know :  he  is  certainly  a  model  and  the  young  ministers  will 
not  fail  if  they  become  like  him — Dr.  Adams  is  in  the  habit 
of  having  one  of  the  Senior  class  at  breakfast  with  him  each 
morning.  Afterwards  they  retire  to  the  Doctor's  study,  and 
from  that  they  go  to  the  church  next  door;  the  youthful 
candidate  takes  the  pulpit  and  the  teacher  the  pew,  and  the 
young  man  preaches  a  sermon.  Dr.  Adams  hears  and  notes 
the  points  important  to  be  criticised,  matter  and  manner, 
voice,  tones,  gestures,  attitudes  and  faces ;  sins  of  omission 
and  commission ;  and  then  and  there,  alone  and  freely,  points 
them  out,  requires  him  to  try  again,  to  correct  the  fault  on 
the  spot,  to  get  out  of  the  bad  habit  he  is  getting  into,  and  if 
one  lesson  fails,  he  must  come  again  and  never  give  over, 
until  the  practice  is  broken  up  utterly,  and  a  better  one 
formed  in  its  place. 

This  is  a  capital  plan,  requiring  great  labor  and  self-denial 
on  the  part  of  the  accomplished  President ;  and  a  service 
which  not  many  teachers  would  render,  day  after  day,  to  a 
single  pupil.  For  one  such  lesson  a  student  ought  to  be 
grateful  to  the  end  of  his  days.  How  few  have  sense  enough 
to  know  the  value  of  such  individual  instruction  ! 

Because  lessons  in  the  family,  the  school,  the  college  and 
the  seminary  are  for  the  most  part  given  to  the  children  and 


HABITS,   ESPECIALLY  BAD  HABITS.  103 

youth  in  a  group  or  class,  the  individual  peculiarities  of  each 
one  are  apt  to  escape  that  attention  which  is  necessary  to 
their  correction  if  they  are  evil.  And  this  is  true  not  of  young 
ministers  only,  or  young  men  only,  or  young  women  only, 
but  of  all  the  children  and  youth  growing  up,  and  of  millions 
who  have  grown  up  with  habits  now  utterly  beyond  all  hope 
of  improvement. 

It  is  a  question  worth  a  moment's  thought,  "  Is  any  bad 
habit  corrected  after  a  person  is  twenty  years  old  ?" 

If  we  answer  the  question  in  the  negative, — and  I  am 
strongly  inclined  to  take  that  side — the  duty  of  parents  and 
teachers  is  invested  at  once  with  tremendous  responsibility, 
and  this  is  the  object  of  the  letter  you  are  reading.  It  may 
also  be  a  warning  and  so  an  aid  to  the  young,  who  need  all 
the  help  they  can  have  to  become  better  and  wiser. 

You  meet  a  man  after  a  separation  of  a  score  of  years. 
The  same  habits  mark  him  now  that  were  his  before.  The 
child  is  so  truly  the  father  of  the  man,  that  the  man  of  sixty 
has  the  ways  that  made  him  notable  when  a  boy.  He  carries 
his  head  just  as  he  did,  is  stooping  or  straight,  quick  or  slow, 
talks  through  his  nose  or  not,  pronounces  words  wrong  just 
as  he  did  when  a  young  man,  and  repeats  himself  all  the  days 
of  his  life. 

I  know  some  of  the  most  polished  gentlemen,  of  the  high 
est  culture,  who  invariably  say  Africar  for  Africa,  Asiar  for 
Asia,  Jamaicar  for  Jamaica,  and  in  fact  they  distinctly  add 
the  letter  r  to  words  ending  in  a,  especially  to  proper  names. 
They  are  unconscious  of  it,  would  not  know  it  if  it  were 
pointed  out  to  them  as  their  habit,  and  would  probably  be 
hurt  if  it  were  mentioned  to  them. 

And  this  suggests  the  two  reasons  why  bad  habits  are 
rarely  if  ever  changed  by  men  or  women  of  ripe  years,  i. 
After  the  habit  has  become  confirmed  the  person  loses  all 
consciousness  of  it,  just  as  the  perfection  of  health  is  to 
be  unconscious  of  having  a  stomach.  2.  One's  self-esteem 
is  wounded  by  criticism,  and  a  habit  is  cherished  all  the  more 
fondly  because  assailed.  It  has  been  said — it  is  very  nearly 
true — that  no  mortal  is  willing  to  be  criticized,  found  fault 


104  I  RE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

with,  and  this  makes  criticism  an  ungracious  and  ungrateful 
task.  I  have  ventured  in  the  course  of  my  life,  to  make  the 
attempt  to  do  unto  others  as  I  would  have  others  do  unto  me, 
and  to  point  out,  in  a  kind  and  inoffensive  way,  the  glaring 
fault  of  a  friend  :  perhaps  a  public  speaker,  or  a  writer.  In 
no  one  instance  did  any  good  come  of  it.  A  preacher  has  a 
habit  of  wrinkling  his  forehead  while  he  speaks,  or  of  pitching 
his  voice  immoderately  high,  or  of  mouthing  his  words,  or 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  of  speaking  too  low  or  too  loud,  too 
fast  or  too  slow;  whatever  it  is, after  he  has  fairly  settled  to 
his  work  in  the  ministry  he  goes  on,  more  and  more  so,  the 
bad  habit  growing  as  his  strength  increases,  moderating 
somewhat  as  old  age  weakens  him,  and  he  dies,  the  same 
habit  clinging  to  him  till  the  end.  He  was  hurt  whenever 
any  one  alluded  to  his  habit :  he  said  he  could  not  help  it,  or 
he  did  not  believe  it,  or  it  was  his  way,  and  if  the  people  did 
not  like  it  they  could  let  it  alone,  and  so  repulsing  friendly 
criticism,  and  hugging  his  fault,  as  a  parent  loves  the  deformed 
child  the  most,  he  sticks  to  his  own,  and  goes  from  worse  to 
worst. 

Peculiarities  are  not  necessarily  faults.  Something  dis 
tinctive  belongs  to  every  earnest  man.  But  faults  of  man 
ner  are  no  more  to  be  cherished  for  the  sake  of  distinction 
than  lameness  is  to  be  preferred  to  sound  limbs. 

The  children  that  play  at  the  fireside  and  sit  at  the  table 
with  you,  are  even  now  growing  into  habits  that  will  never  be 
broken  up.  You  may  treat  it  lightly  and  let  them  become 
fixed  in  their  ways  of  doing  or  not  doing  things,  of  leaving 
the  door  open  when  they  ought  to  shut  it,  of  dropping  their 
work  or  playthings  when  they  ought  to  put  them  away  into 
their  proper  places,  of  using  improper  words,  of  being  selfish 
and  proud  and  vain;  peevish,  fretful, censorious ;  neglecting 
duties  that  should  be  done  at  once;  of  disobeying  when 
spoken  to  once ;  of  speaking  when  they  ought  to  be  silent ; 
little  habits — so  little  that  their  mention  seems  idle ;  but  let 
these  habits,  any  or  all  of  them,  be  unconnected  when  children 
are  under  age,  and  they  will  never  be  changed.  Put  a  grown 
up  man  into  a  mortar  and  bray  him  with  a  pestle,  yet  will 


THE  EVIL   EYE.  105 

not  his  bad  habits  depart  from  him.  The  way  the  child  walks 
in  he  walks  when  he  is  old. 

And  all  this  has  not  so  much  to  do  with  those  habits  which 
may  or  may  not  be  vices,  according  to  the  extent  in  which 
they  are  indulged, — for  it  is  not  always  that  an  eccentricity  is  a 
vice — but  it  refers  to  those  little  foxes  that  spoil  the  vines ; 
faults  too  small  to  be  named,  that  make  up  character  and  a 
large  part  of  the  life  that  now  is.  Bear  with  them  in  your 
friend ;  they  are  spots  on  the  sun ;  remembering  that  he  sees 
greater  faults  in  you,  perhaps ! 

And  as  Cowper  furnished  me  a  motto  to  begin  with,  let  us 
find  a  fitting  couplet  for  the  close  in  Dryden  : 

"  All  habits  gather  by  unseen  degrees, 
As  brooks  make  rivers,  rivers  run  to  seas." 


THE  EVIL  EYE. 

A  beautiful,  life-like  portrait  of  an  old  friend  has  awakened 
the  memory  of  a  fact  that  may  point  a  moral.  I  refer  to  the 
smooth  well-rounded  face  of  the  late  Milton  Badger,  D.D., 
that  adorns  the  last  number  of  the  Congregattotial  Quarterly. 

When  I  came  to  this  city,  in  the  year  1840,  Dr.  Badger  and 
Dr.  Charles  Hall  were  secretaries  of  the  American  Home 
Missionary  Society.  Their  office  was  very  near  to  mine,  and 
I  was  soon  pleasantly  acquainted  with  them.  We  were  in 
the  daily  habit  of  taking  dinner  together  at  a  restaurant  on 
the  corner  of  Beekman  and  Nassau  street,  in  the  building 
which  is  now  the  Park  Hotel. 

In  the  summer  of  that  year,  conversing  with  a  friend 
and  speaking  of  pleasant  persons  with  whom  I  had  become 
associated  since  coming  to  the  city,  I  mentioned  Dr.  Badger 
as  one  of  them.  My  friend  remarked: 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  that  he  is  afflicted  with  such  turns!" 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  he  was  suffering  in  any  way.  To 
what  do  you  allude?" 


106  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  of  it,"  my  friend 
replied ;  "  but  lest  you  should  imagine  it  to  be  something 
worse  than  it  really  is,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  ;  he  has  occa 
sional  turns  of  derangement,  and  is  obliged  to  leave  his 
work  and  retire  for  a  time  to  an  asylum.  They  do  not  last 
long,  but  they  have  been  coming  on  more  and  more  frequently 
for  some  years." 

"  This  is  very  sad  :  I  would  not  have  suspected  it  from  any 
thing  I  have  seen  ;  but  now  that  you  speak  of  it,  I  perceive  a 
sadness,  a  reticence,  and  almost  a  melancholy  in  his  expres 
sion,  that  may  well  haunt  a  mind  that  is  disordered." 

"  Yes  ;  it  takes  the  form  of  melancholy  without  cause,  and 
is  temporarily  relieved  by  medical  treatment,  only  to  return 
more  painfully  than  before." 

From  this  time  onward  I  began  to  pay  more  particular 
attention  to  the  looks,  the  acting,  manner  and  words  of  my 
poor  unfortunate  friend  Badger.  I  observed  that  he  and  his 
colleague  always  came  to  dinner  together,  which  indicated  the 
importance  of  his  being  kept  closely  watched.  He  sometimes 
failed  to  notice  a  remark  made  by  another  of  the  company  at 
the  table,  which  led  me  to  think  his  mind  was  wandering. 
He  would  now  and  then  cast  a  glance  so  full  of  pity  and  sor 
row,  I  was  sure  that  he  was  himself  suffering.  His  knife  and 
fork  began  to  appear  dangerous  weapons  in  his  hands,  and  if 
he  rested  a  moment  in  the  midst  of  dinner,  he  seemed  to  me 
meditating  an  attack  upon  some  other  meat  than  that  on  his 
plate.  The  signs  of  latent  madness  cropped  out  continually, 
and  the  danger  of  being  with  him  appeared  to  increase,  so 
that  I  determined  to  have  a  consultation  with  Dr.  Hall,  in 
reference  to  some  decided  course  to  be  pursued  with  him. 

Seeking  an  opportunity  I  said  to  him,  when  we  were  by 
ourselves:  "  It  is  very  sad  this  trouble  of  Dr.  Badger's;  don't 
you  think  something  ought  to  be  done  about  it?" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Dr.  Hall. 

"  I  beg  pardon  if  I  have  touched  upon  anything  that  is 
secret,  but  I  supposed  it  was  generally  known,  and  it  was  in 
the  purest  sympathy  that  I  referred  to  it." 


THE  EVIL  EYE,  107 

Dr.  Hall  replied,  "  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  speaking 
of,  and  you  will  have  to  explain  yourself." 

I  was  still  under  the  impression  that  he  was  tryingto  divert 
me  from  my  suspicions,  and  I  said  frankly,  "  I  am  told  that 
he  is  subject  to  fits  of  derangement,  and  is  often  confined  for 
treatment,  and  then  returns  to  his  duties." 

Dr.  Hall  exploded  with  laughter,  to  my  astonishment  and 
relief:  and,  calling  to  Dr.  Badger,  whose  room  adjoined  his 
own,  he  said,  "  Come  in  here,  and  tell  us  what  you  have  been 
doing."  He  then  repeated  to  his  associate  the  story  I  had 
told  him,  and  they  made  themselves  as  merry  over  it  as  was 
becoming  two  divines. 

When  the  explanation  was  sought,  it  was  found  that  my 
informant  had  confounded  Dr.  Badger  with  another  person, 
of  whom  all  the  facts  were  correctly  stated,  but  they  were 
applied  to  the  wrong  man  !  For  a  long  time  afterward  the 
incident  was  the  occasion  of  pleasantry  between  us,  and 
besides  the  amusement  it  afforded,  is  the  lesson  it  teaches  to 
be  very  cautious  of  awakening  unjust  suspicions  in  regard  to 
others. 

If  I  had  been  called  on  to  testify  in  a  court  of  justice,  as  to 
the  sanity  of  Dr.  Badger,  before  I  went  to  his  colleague  with 
my  suspicions,  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  speak  of  the 
"look  out  of  his  eye,"  the  "incoherent  observation,"  the 
"absent-mindedness,"  the  "sudden  movement,"  the  appa 
rent  "melancholy"  which  had  marked  the  deportment  of 
one  of  the  most  even,  placid,  well-balanced,  judicious  and 
undisturbed  men  in  the  world.  But  the  evil  eye  of  suspicion, 
with  which  I  had  regarded  him,  had  discovered  signs  of 
incipient  insanity,  and  had  perverted  the  suavity  of  a  Chris 
tian  gentleman  into  the  lurking  seeds  of  mental  disease. 

To  injure  the  usefulness  of  a  good  man,  to  poison  the  hap 
piness  of  a  noble  woman,  it  is  necessary  only  to  give  wings 
to  words  of  suspicion  in  regard  to  character,  and  the  evil 
deed  is  done.  A  faithful  pastor  has  won  his  way  to  a  well- 
earned  reputation,  and  a  report  gets  abroad  that  "  he  drinks :" 
that  is,  "  he  is  intemperate :"  for  with  many  people  "  to  drink 


Io8  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

at  all  is  to  be  intemperate,"  and  the  story  is  confirmed  by 
every  instance  of  special  success  in  the  pulpit,  and  by  every 
failure  that  he  makes.  It  is  quite  as  well  to  kill  a  dog  at 
once  as  to  give  it  out  that  he  is  mad,  for  then  he  is  sure  to  be 
hunted  to  the  death.  And  when  once  the  suspicion  is 
awakened  that  a  man  or  a  woman  is  not  altogether  right, 
every  act,  however  innocent,  is  construed  into  evidence  of 
wrong.  Words  that  are  as  gentle  and  good  as  if  they  fell 
from  the  lips  of  angels,  are  perverted  by  prejudice  into  wit 
nesses  of  evil,  and  out  of  their  own  mouths  the  innocent  are 
condemned.  To  speak  ill  of  a  neighbor  is  in  almost  every 
case  an  injury  to  society,  and  to  speak  evil  unjustly  is  to  bear 
false  witness,  which  is  one  of  the  most  grievous  sins. 

I  have  heard  you  say  that  it  is  a  namby-pamby  milk-and- 
water  sort  of  virtue  that  requires  us  to  speak  only  what  is 
good  of  people,  and  that  faults  are  as  fair  a  subject  of  remark 
as  the  merits  of  others.  But  I  do  not  agree  with  you  in  that. 
The  law  of  love  is  the  best  rule  of  life,  and  to  speak  ill  of 
others  is  to  be  allowed  only  when  love  requires  it.  Censure 
is  as  just  at  some  times  as  praise  at  others.  Only  let  it  be 
in  love.  But  if  the  truth  is  not  to  be  spoken  always,  if 
silence  is  better  than  speech  when  speaking  the  truth  would 
do  evil  and  no  good,  how  wicked  and  how  dangerous  it  is  to 
utter  a  word  of  untruth,  even  a  breath  of  suspicion,  a  trifling 
hint  or  insinuation  that  may  soil  the  fair  face  of  a  spotless 
name,  and  dim  the  lustre  of  a  virtuous  character.  The 
tongue  is  a  little  member,  but  it  is  a  mighty  power.  And 
words  once  spoken  can  never,  never,  never  be  unsaid. 


MODEL  MINISTER,  PROFESSOR,  AND  MAN.      109 


THE    MODEL  MINISTER,    PASTOR,    PROFESSOR, 

AND  MAN. 

REMARKS  AT  THE  INAUGURATION  OF  THE  TABLET  IN 
PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY  CHAPEL,  TO  THE 
MEMORY  OF  REV.  SAMUEL  MILLER,  D.D. 

As  I  speak  of  Dr.  Samuel  Miller,  he  rises  on  my  memory 
as  when  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  It  was  in  the  autumn 
of  1832:  in  the  63d  year  of  his  life,  in  the  morning  of  that 
old  age  which  put  on  immortality  at  81.  Coming  to  the 
Seminary  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  him,  I  called  and 
was  received  in  his  library,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was 
standing,  clad  in  a  white  flannel  study  gown,  and  with  a 
black  silk  cap  on  his  head.  The  walls,  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
lined  with  books  ;  the  gently  burning  wood-fire ;  the  imple 
ments  of  learned  toil ;  a  form  of  manly  grace  and  beauty ; 
his  paternal  smile  and  pressure  of  my  hand  ;  all  these  come 
back  to  me  fresh  and  warm,  though  nearly  half  a  century 
lies  between  that  scene  and  this,  as  we  meet  to  cut  his  name 
in  marble  and  pay  this  honor  to  his  memory. 

Having  given  me  a  kindly  welcome  and  learned  my 
intended  course  of  study,  he  said :  "  You  will  often  want 
books  that  others  have  drawn  from  the  library ;  you  see 
mine; while  you  are  in  the  Seminary,  consider  them  yours; 
take  as  many  as  you  wish  ;  come  whenever  you  please  and 
help  yourself."  He  followed  this  remarkable  offer  by  taking 
down  some  works,  the  names  of  which  I  remember  distinctly, 
and  I  carried  them  off  "  rejoicing  as  one  who  findeth  great 
spoil." 

Whoever  speaks  of  Dr.  Miller  without  personal  knowledge 
of  him,  portrays  a  man  of  great  dignity,  formality,  with  that 
reserve  which  weak  men  sometimes  suppose  to  be  essential 
to  the  manners  of  a  gentleman.  He  was  free  from  those 
weaknesses.  Without  affectation,  he  was  simply  a  refined 
Christian,  with  the  nicest  sense  of  the  proprieties ;  the  most 


no  IREN^US  LETTERS. 

delicate  consideration  for  others,  deep  personal  humility, 
and  unbounded  benevolence.  When  these  virtues  are  com 
bined  with  large  learning,  extensive  intercourse  with  culti 
vated  men,  and  a  fine  person,  you  have  as  nearly  a  perfect 
model  as  God  often  makes. 

The  first  time  that  I  read  an  essay  before  the  class  Dr. 
Miller  was  in  the  chair.  The  juvenile  performance  was  sub 
mitted  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  students,  each  of  whom 
was  at  liberty  to  make  his  comments.  These  were  free,  and 
some  of  them  very  caustic.  My  epidermis  was  then  much 
more  tender  than  it  is  now.  Some  kindly  criticisms  fell 
from  the  lips  of  my  distinguished  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  D.  X. 
Junkin.  The  Church  and  the  world  have  heard  of  other 
men  who  took  me  in  hand  that  morning.  When  they  had 
flayed  me  alive,  cut  me  up  entirely,  it  remained  for  Dr.  Miller 
to  hold  an  inquest  on  the  remains.  With  exceeding  gentle 
ness  he  said,  "  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  remain  after  the 
class  retires  ?"  I  remained,  in  sure  and  certain  fear  that  the 
excoriation  was  to  be  so  severe  that  his  tenderness  would 
not  suffer  him  to  perform  the  operation  in  public.  We  were 
alone,  and  he  broke  the  silence  by  saying,  in  his  blandest 
tones,  "  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  come  and  take  tea  with 
me  to-morrow ;  I  wish  you  to  become  acquainted  with  my 
family."  I  recovered  and  went. 

While  in  the  lecture  room,  I  am  reminded  of  one  of  the 
happiest  illustrations  of  Dr.  Miller's  manners,  his  genial 
humor,  and  regard  for  the  feelings  of  those  whom  he  would 
correct.  We  took  our  seats  in  the  old  oratory  often  in 
chairs  of  our  own,  provided  with  a  leaf  on  which  we  could 
write  our  notes.  One  of  the  class  had  so 'placed  his  chair 
that  he  sat  with  his  back  to  Dr.  Miller;  the  impropriety  of 
the  position  deserved  rebuke,  but  he  did  not  wish  to  mortify 
the  young  man ;  and  as  he  was  about  to  commence  his  lecture 
Dr.  Miller  said : 

"  Mr. ,  I  prefer  in  this  lecture  to  reason  a  priori,  rather 

than  a  posteriori"    Amid  the  roars  of  the  class,  he  wheeled 
right  about  face. 

Dr.  Miller's  standard  of  clerical  manners  was  admirably 


MODEL  MINISTER,  PROFESSOR,  AND  MAN.     in 

expressed  in  one  of  those  memorable  Sabbath  afternoon 
conferences,  when  that  subject  was  up  for  discussion.  He 
said  to  us:  "I  would  have  the  minister,  in  his  manner  of 
life,  his  dress,  his  equipage,  so  conform  to  the  reasonable 
expectations  of  society,  as  to  avoid  remark  either  on  the 
ground  of  parsimony  or  of  extravagance.  Thus,  if  he  rides, 
I  would  not  wish  the  people  to  be  able  to  say, '  What  a  fine 
horse  the  parson  has  ! '  Nor  on  the  other  hand,  'What  a  rat 
of  a  thing  our  minister  rides  ! '  " 

Born  in  the  State  of  Delaware,  his  father  a  rural  pastor, 
he  had  the  best  home  that  children  have  who  are  to  be 
trained  for  usefulness  and  heaven.  His  collegiate  course 
was  completed  with  honor  in  Philadelphia.  His  pastoral 
life  was  begun  and  ended  in  the  city  of  New  York.  In  the 
early  years  of  his  ministry,  with  men  of  might  and  renown 
around  him,  the  youthful  soldier  of  the  cross  bore  himself 
so  bravely  as  to  command  respectful  admiration  and  honor. 
Before  the  time  when  Doctorates  were  then  wont  to  fall  on 
the  reverend  head,  he  met  his  fate.  It  does  not  take  so 
much  to  make  a  doctor  in  our  day  as  it  did  in  his, — the 
boys  become  Doctors  of  Divinity  now  almost  as  soon  as  they 
leave  off  their  aprons, — but  he  was  decorated  when  so  young, 
that  we  may  easily  appreciate  an  incident  which  occurred  on 
a  journey  he  made  in  New  England  just  after  he  experienced 
a  change  from  simple  Mr.  to  a  more  excellent  degree.  His 
travelling  friend  introduced  him  to  a  plain-spoken  divine  as 
"  Dr.  Miller  of  New  York,"  and  the  man  taking  him  at  once 
to  be  a  physician,  asked  him  about  the  yellow  fever;  when 
his  friend  informed  him  that  this  was  a  Doctor  of  Divinity ; 
upon  which  he  lifted  up  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  with 
emphasis  peculiar  to  the  expression,  You  DON'T  ! 

His  pulpit  talents,  both  as  a  writer  and  speaker,  were  of  a 
high  order  ;  graceful,  able  and  eloquent,  bringing  only  beaten 
oil  into  the  sanctuary,  preaching  without  notes,  with  earnest 
ness,  fluency  and  force,  he  was  heard  with  profit,  and  his 
ministry  was  eminently  useful  and  successful. 

His  life  of  20  years  in  New  York  must  have  been  won 
derfully  distinguished,  far  beyond  that  of  men  of  his  years, 


112  IREN^US  LETTERS. 

He  was  24  years  old  when  he  was  ordained  pastor  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  church;  he  was  44  when  translated  to 
the  Seminary  in  Princeton,  yet,  in  this  first  score  of  his  min 
isterial  years,  he  became  the  acknowledged  champion  of 
Presbyterian  Church  order ;  a  voluminous  author,  some  of 
whose  books  were  republished  in  England,  extorting  from  one 
of  its  reviews  the  reluctant  admission  that  "  Mr.  Miller  has 
deserved  well  of  both  worlds."  He  was  one  of  the  fathers 
of  Theological  Seminary  education  in  the  United  States. 
He  was  one  of  the  consulting  and  devising  minds  that  gave 
form  to  the  Andover  Seminary.  He  and  Dr.  Ashbel  Green 
"  may  be  considered  the  founders  of  Princeton  Theological 
Seminary."  And  in  the  midst  of  labors,  multifarious  and 
multitudinous,  he  was  called  to  the  Presidency  of  Dickinson 
College,  Pa.,  the  Presidency  of  the  University  of  North  Car 
olina,  and  to  the  Presidency  of  Hamilton  College,  N.  Y. 

He  came  to  the  Seminary,  the  child  of  his  affections,  in 
the  second  year  of  its  life,  and  in  the  early  prime  of  his  own. 
With  what  devotion,  diligence,  and  ability ;  with  what  learn 
ing,  wisdom,  and  success,  he  served  the  Church  and  its  great 
Head!  His  broad,  ripe,  liberal  culture  forbade  him  to  be  a 
High  Churchman,  for  he  held  that  to  be  the  tap  root  of 
Popery;  but  he  was  an  intelligent  Presbyterian  divine,  a 
beautiful  type  of  the  best  school  of  ecclesiastical  science,  a 
full-orbed  example  of  the  thoroughly  furnished  minister  of 
the  Word. 

Hundreds  who  sat  at  his  feet  have  gone  out  into  the  rich 
harvest  fields  to  do  work  for  the  Master.  Some  of  them  are 
among  the  great  men  of  the  ages  ;  others,  unknown  to  fame, 
have  lived  and  died  ;  no  white  shaft  rises  from  the  green  sod 
that  covers  their  precious  dust ;  no  tablet  tells  the  genera 
tions  that  such  men  ever  lived,  but  He  whose  hand  upholds 
the  spheres  has  set  them  with  the  stars. 

Thus,  Dr.  Miller  trained  men  to  be  true  and  faithful,  to  be 
proud  of  their  lineage,  loyal  to  their  Church,  and  gallant 
soldiers  of  the  cross. 

The  prophets,  where  are  they  ?  We  write  their  names  on 
tablets,  their  memories  are  holy  in  our  hearts  ;  their  instruc- 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS.       113 

tions  we  follow  with  reverence ;  grant  God  that  when  we 
too  have  finished  our  course  with  joy,  we  may  sit  down  with 
Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob,  with  Samuel  Miller  and  the 
Alexanders  and  Breckinridge  and  Hodge,  the  last  ascended, 
and  join  with  them  in  the  humble  cry,  "  Not  unto  us,  not 
unto  us." 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS. 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad,  how  many  babes  I  see, 
because  I  leave  the  dusty  road,  and  seek  a  shady  lea.  That 
lea  in  New  York  is  the  Central  Park  ;  the  only  meadow 
which  dwellers  in  the  city  made  with  hands  can  enjoy.  It  is 
a  great  luxury  to  have  it.  Even  we  who  cannot  afford  the 
luxury  of  equipage,  may  take  a  cane  for  company,  and  stroll 
miles  and  miles  in  the  smooth  walks,  by  the  side  of  charm 
ing  lakes  enlivened  with  white  and  also  black  swans  ;  under 
the  shadows  of  great  trees  ;  now  and  then  resting  our  weary 
feet  by  sitting  on  the  rude  benches. 

It  is  a  habit  of  mine,  when  it  is  possible,  to  fly  from  the 
shop  to  the  Park  for  a  nip  of  fresh  air  and  a  bit  of  exercise. 
In  the  hot  weather  of  the  present  October  this  retreat  has 
been  specially  agreeable.  Indeed  we  have  not  known  such 
an  October  since  the  Dutch  made  this  city  New  Amsterdam. 
The  Park  is  the  useful  refuge  for  nurses  and  babies.  Thou 
sands  of  mothers  are  only  too  glad  to  have  their  children 
taken  from  home  into  the  open  air  or  anywhere,  and  the 
nurses  are  quite  as  well  pleased  to  go  as  mothers  are  to  have 
them.  But  of  these  thousands  of  mothers,  few,  if  any  of 
them,  know  what  becomes  of  their  children  when  once  out 
of  sight. 

Yesterday  I  turned  into  the  Park  at  the  head  of  Sixth 
avenue.  There  are  some  charming  little  retreats  not  far 
from  the  gateway.  Shady  and  cool,  by  the  waterside,  they 
invite  the  children  to  play,  and  the  nurses  to  meet  their 
friends.  Another  favorite  resort  is  over  on  the  East  side 


U4  tKENMUS  LETTERS. 

near  the  wild  beasts.  Here  the  little  people  gather  numer 
ously,  and  are  easily  amused.  The  great  thing  is  to  get 
where  the  children  can  take  care  of  themselves,  so  that  the 
young-lady-nurse  may  not  be  disturbed  with  duties  while 
she  enjoys  the  pleasure  of  an  interview  with  her  "  cousin," 
who  has  happened  to  be  in  the  Park  at  the  same  hour. 

A  little  way  into  the  Park,  and  I  encountered  an  Irish 
nurse  administering  discipline  to  a  babe  a  couple  of  years 
old.  The  child  was  crying,  the  nurse  was  scolding  and  shak 
ing  her.  I  stopped  in  front  of  the  group  : 

"There,  now,"  said  the  nurse  to  the  child,  "the  man  is 
going  to  carry  you  off  ;  you  naughty  girl,  you." 

"No,"  said  I,  "that's  no  such  thing;  you  ought  to  be 
carried  off  yourself  and  kept  off,  for  frightening  the  child; 
you  are  sent  out  here  to  amuse  the  child,  and  you  are  scaring 
the  life  out  of  it  with  your  lies.  I  wish  I  had  the  right  to 
punish  you  on  the  spot." 

By  the  time  I  had  made  this  long  speech  the  babe  was 
quieted,  and  the  nurse,  finding  her  tongue,  began  her  retort, 
which,  I  have  no  doubt,  was  sharp  enough,  but  I  did  not 
wait  to  hear  it. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  lake  Bridget  and  her  "  cousin" 
were  so  closely  engaged  in  conversation  that  she  did  not 
observe  the  babe  wandering  off  on  the  green  grass ;  it  was 
pleasant  for  the  child  and  quite  safe,  unless  the  little  crea 
ture  should  fall  into  the  water.  She  would  not  have  drowned, 
for  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  pick  a  baby  out  of  the  quiet 
lake.  Not  one  has  ever  yet  been  drowned  under  such  cir 
cumstances.  As  the  children  joined  each  other  on  the  grass, 
hugged  and  played  and  tumbled  about  in  their  childish  glee, 
it  was  easy  to  see  how  rapidly  infectious  diseases  are  spread. 
Mrs.  Jones'  child  is  out  of  sorts,  peevish  and  languid. 
Bridget  must  take  it  to  the  Park.  The  mother  does  not 
know  that  a  few  days  before  it  was  playing  on  the  grass  with 
a  number  of  children,  one  of  whom  was  in  just  the  condition 
of  her  pet  to-day ;  it  was  ready  to  break  out  with  the  scarlet 
fever,  or  diphtheria,  or  some  other  complaint.  Half  a  dozen 
children  from  as  many  different  parts  of  the  city  are  thus 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS.        115 

exposed.  To-day  Mrs.  Jones  sends  her  child  into  the  Park  ; 
it  is  in  the  state  to  give  the  same  disease  to  all  the  babes  she 
plays  with  ;  to-morrow  she  is  down  sick,  everybody  wonder 
ing  where  she  could  have  caught  that  dreadful  complaint. 

Wandering  along  my  winding  way,  and  passing  a  bench 
of  Bridgets,  beaux  and  babies,  one  of  the  latter  fell  head  first 
from  its  cradle  and  struck  upon  the  solid  concrete  walk.  It 
made  no  scream,  and  I  hoped  it  was  not  hurt.  But  when  I  had 
passed  a  few  steps  on,  the  cry  came,  piercing  my  ear  and  heart. 
The  stunned  child  had  "  come  to,"  and  was  now  shrieking  in 
pain  and  fright.  Doubtless  it  was  soon  hushed,  and  Bridget 
pursued  her  interrupted  tete-a-tete  with  her  "cousin."  The 
fond  mother  at  home  will  never  know  of  the  accident  that 
happened  to  her  darling  child  while  the  unfaithful  nurse  was 
flirting  with  a  man  ;  but  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two  the 
child  will  become  more  and  more  restless,  fitful,  uncontroll 
able  ;  then  it  will  be  lethargic ;  convulsions  will  seize  and 
distort  it;  parents  will  weep  and  pray,  and  plead  with  doc 
tors  to  do  something  for  it ;  they  will  shake  their  heads  and 
fear  there  is  water  on  the  brain,  and  if  so,  there  is  great 
reason  to  fear ;  "  did  the  child  ever  fall  on  its  head  ?"  no, 
never ;  and  then  comes  one  more  convulsive  struggle ;  its 
little  hands  are  clutched  ;  its  limbs  are  drawn  into  fierce  con 
tortions  ;  and  the  doctor  says  it  does  not  suffer  pain ;  it  is 
quite  unconscious  ;  these  awful  throes  are  involuntary ;  then 
it  opens  its  eyes  in  the  light  of  a  mother's  love,  and  its  soul 
goes  out  to  Him  who  gave  it. 

That  is  the  result  of  just  such  an  accident  as  happened 
when  I  passed  the  unwatched  cradle  in  the  Park.  Hundreds 
of  such  cradles  and  nurses  are  in  the  Park  to-day.  Fond 
mothers  think  they  are  doing  everything  for  their  babes 
when  they  hire  one  woman  for  each  child,  to  give  her  whole 
time"  to  it.  But  they  are  trying  to  get  for  their  children 
what  money  cannot  procure. 

You  live  in  the  country,  and  imagine  that  the  hints  in  this 
letter  are  intended  for  the  mothers  of  New  York,  whose 
babies  and  nurses  enjoy  the  Central  Park.  But  I  am  writing 
to  them  and  to  you.  The  progress  of  social  refinement,  the 


Il6  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

increase  of  wealth  and  culture,  the  division  of  labor,  the 
demands  of  society,  women's  work  in  the  Church,  take  up 
so  much  time  that  mothers  turn  off  the  care  of  their  babes 
upon  hired  nurses.  Mrs.  Smith  sends  for  me  to  come  and 
talk  with  her  about  founding  an  asylum  for  deserted  and 
orphan  children.  Her  own  son,  twelve  years  old,  was 
stretched  on  the  rug,  with  dirty  shoes,  munching  an  apple, 
and  acting  more  like  a  pig  in  the  straw  than  the  oldest  son 
of  a  lady.  She  told  him  to  get  up,  but  he  wouldn't,  and  he 
didn't.  We  talked  as  well  as  we  could,  and  I  thought  her 
own  children  needed  care  quite  as  much  as  the  Arabs  of  the 
street  or  the  desert.  And  so  it  is  everywhere.  Home  is  the 
source  of  salvation  for  society.  We  want  good  homes. 
Mothers  are  the  makers  of  the  manners  of  their  sons  and 
daughters.  But  the  mother  who  commits  her  tender  babes 
to  the  unwatched  care  of  a  half-civilized  pagan  or  papal 
nurse,  and  then  imagines  that  she  has  done  her  duty,  is  a 
mother  false  to  her  nature,  to  herself,  to  her  children,  false 
to  God  and  to  society.  If  she  has  heart  enough  to  ache,  she 
will  yet  regret  her  neglect  of  maternal  duties,  when  it  is  too 
late  to  retrieve  the  lamentable  loss. 


MANNERS  IN  CHURCH. 

Thirty  people,  young  men  and  maidens,  "  taken  up"  and 
brought  before  a  magistrate,  for  misbehavior  in  church,  pro 
duced  no  small  stir  in  a  quiet  Long  Island  village,  the  other 
day.  If  they  had  all  been  fined,  or  even  imprisoned  for  a 
while,  that  they  might  give  themselves  to  reflection  and  pen 
itence,  it  would  have  served  them  right,  and  perhaps  would 
have  been  a  wholesome  discipline. 

They  had  been  laughing,  talking,  and  disporting  them 
selves  in  a  most  unseemly  manner,  and  it  was  well  to  bring 
such  base  fellows,  of  both  sexes,  to  the  only  bar  of  which 
they  are  afraid.  Indeed,  it  is  strange  that,  in  a  civilized  and 


MANNERS  IN  CHURCH.  117 

Christian  country,  there  can  be,  in  any  community,  a  set  of 
youth  so  destitute  of  decency  as  to  go  into  a  place  of  prayer 
to  make  fun  !  Yet  this  is  only  an  excess  of  ill-  breeding  or 
bad  manners,  and  there  is  not  a  little  of  it  in  the  most  refined 
cities  and  church  circles,  different  in  degree,  and  in  kind 
also,  but  liable  to  criticism  and  censure  nevertheless. 

It  is  not  the  proper  thing  to  come  to  church  after  the  ser 
vice  has  been  opened.  Where  circumstances  have  made  it 
impracticable  to  be  early,  the  late  comer  may  be  justified  on 
the  ground  that  it  is  better  to  come  late  than  not  at  all. 
But  it  is  a  fact  that  some  people  have  a  habit  of  coming  late, 
and  it  is  very  plain,  to  those  whom  they  disturb,  that  they 
might  have  been  in  time  had  they  taken  pains  to  be  so. 
Invited  to  dinner,  they  would  regard  it  very  rude  to  keep 
the  other  guests  waiting,  or  to  make  a  disturbance,  by  com 
ing  five  or  ten  minutes  after  the  dinner  is  served.  But  it  is 
almost  an  unheard-of  event,  probably  it  was  never  known, 
that  a  Christian  congregation  had  the  privilege  of  beginning 
its  public  devotions  without  being  immediately  afflicted  by 
the  arrival  of  those  who  come  tearing  up  the  aisle  while 
others  are  trying  to  pray  or  praise. 

To  speak  of  such  offences  against, good  manners  as  whis 
pering  in  divine  service,  laughing  or  sleeping,  ought  to  be 
quite  unnecessary,  for  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  such  vices 
prevail  to  any  extent  in  Christian  churches.  Yet  we  do  see 
it  sometimes,  and  always  with  a  feeling  that  those  who 
indulge  in  it  have  no  proper  sense  of  the  fact  expressed  in 
those  words :  "  Holiness  becometh  thine  house,  O  Lord  of 
Hosts." 

On  a  beautiful  Sabbath  forenoon,  I  was  in  the  middle  seat 
of  one  of  the  largest  Fifth  avenue  churches  in  this  city. 
Before  me,  in  another  pew,  sat  a  well-dressed  man,  who  was 
also  an  Orthodox  divine,  whose  garments  were  so  thoroughly 
imbued  with  the  odor  of  tobacco,  that  the  fragrance  filled 
the  circumambient  air  as  if  the  man  were  a  hogshead  of  the 
weed.  Probably  to  some  near  him  the  aroma  was  delicious, 
and  they  blessed  him  for  bringing  the  scent  with  him,  that 
they  might  enjoy  it  and  the  gospel  together.  But  unto  us 


Il8  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

whose  olfactories  have  never  been  refined  to  the  delicacy 
essential  to  appreciate  the  sweet  savor  of  such  a  Sabbath 
sacrifice,  the  stench  was  abominable.  Was  it  according  to 
the  law  of  Christ  for  this  good  man  to  come  into  the  house 
to  be  an  offence  unto  the  ladies  and  all  the  weak  brethren  in 
his  vicinity  ? 

In  this  connection,  I  am  sorely  tempted  to  say  that  there 
are  other  odors  equally  disagreeable  to  some  which  the 
brethren  do  not  bring  to  church  ;  but  it  is  not  safe  to  say  a 
word  against  perfumes,  lest  those  who  come  laden  with 
them  should  be  more  offended  than  are  we  who  endure 
them.  It  is  indeed  written  in  the  Psalms,  "  All  thy  gar 
ments  smell  ot  myrrh;"  but  however  much  some  may  fancy 
myrrh,  it  is  not  possible  to  build  an  argument  upon  one  poet 
ical  passage  like  that,  to  prove  the  propriety  of  poisoning 
the  atmosphere  of  the  sanctuary  with  musk,  patchouli  and 
mille  fleurs. 

The  right  and  wrong  of  this  turn  upon  the  rule  of  doing 
as  we  would  have  others  do  to  us.  Intensely  unpleasant  to 
many  people  is  the  smell  of  tobacco.  Many  perfumes,  deli 
cious  to  some,  are  quite  as  disagreeable  to  others.  The 
church  is  a  place  where  we  ought  to  be  allowed  to  meet 
without  being  compelled  to  inhale  odors  which  are  purely 
artificial,  and  have  no  necessary  relations  to  the  comfort  and 
convenience  of  any. 

On  this  principle  of  doing  as  we  would  be  done  by,  and 
remembering  that  it  is  our  duty  to  deny  ourselves  for  the 
sake  of  others,  we  ought  to  forego  the  privilege  of  public 
worship  when  we  are  liable  to  carry  in  our  garments  or  our 
breath  the  germ  of  disease.  It  is  often  a  dreadful  truth 
that  scarlet  fever  and  other  infectious  and  contagious  diseases 
are  spread  by  the  presence  in  church  of  those  who  come 
from  houses  where  these  pestilential  sicknesses  are,  or  have 
been  recently.  Kind,  good  women  will  go  to  a  friend's  home 
and  minister  with  angelic  faithfulness  by  a  sick  bed,  and 
from  that  house  go  to  the  sanctuary  with  the  diseases  all 
over  and  through  their  raiment.  Persons  suffering  with 
severe  colds  and  coughs  make  themselves  an  affliction  to 


MANNERS  IN  CHURCH.  119 

Others,  preventing  all  in  their  vicinity  from  deriving  profit 
or  enjoyment  from  the  services,  when  it  is  their  Christian  duty 
to  stay  at  home.  They  need  the  medical  doctor.  Let  us  be 
very  gentle  in  our  treatment  of  mothers  who  come  to  church 
with  babes  in  their  arms,  for  well  do  we  know  they  would 
not  bring  them  could  they  leave  them.  Yet  even  they  will 
leave  the  house,  when  their  infants  insist  on  being  heard,  to 
the  disturbance  of  public  worship. 

While  we  were  singing  the  doxology,  I  counted  sixteen 
Presbyterians  putting  on  their  overcoats.  It  would  have 
been  better  had  I  been  worshipping  instead  of  counting,  but 
it  was  almost  involuntary,  and  did  not  take  me  more  than 
ten  seconds ;  while  those  stout  worshippers  wrestled  with 
their  garments,  and,  wriggling  into  them,  finally  stood  erect 
in  time  to  come  out  with  the  words,  "  By  all  in  heaven." 
Had  they  reverently  paused  till  the  benediction  had  been 
given,  they  might  have  arrayed  themselves  comfortably  and 
reached  home  in  reasonable  time. 

Coming  down  the  broad  aisle,  the  fragrant  divine  asked 
me,  "  How  did  you  like  the  sermon  ?"  I  told  him  in  the 
fewest  words.  A  lady  friend  said,  "  How  did  you  like  the 
sermon  ?"  I  replied  in  words  more,  because  a  lady  was  to 
be  answered.  Approaching  the  door,  a  gentleman  greeted 
me  cordially,  and  said,  "  What  did  you  think  of  that  ser 
mon  ?"  I  told  him  as  I  had  told  the  others,  for  it  was  an 
excellent  discourse.  In  the  vestibule  one  of  the  elders  took 
me  by  the  hand  and,  with  true  seriousness,  asked,  "  Didn't 
you  like  the  sermon  ;  we  have  just  such  every  Sunday."  No 
one  of  these  Christian  worshippers  appeared  to  have  any 
other  thought  of  the  morning  service  but  the  sermon,  and 
how  other  people  "liked  it."  Let  us  not  undervalue  the 
sermon.  But  also  let  us  not  make  it  the  test  of  one's  profit 
and  comfort  in  the  worship  of  God.  And  I  must  say  I  would 
rather  not  be  required  to  pass  an  opinion  upon  the  preach 
ing,  while  yet  at  the  gate  of  heaven. 

How  it  was  in  days  of  old,  we  need  not  now  discuss.  It 
was  never  right  to  make  preaching  the  primary  business  of 
church  service.  Prayer  and  praise  are  the  more  important 


120  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

parts.  And  the  feeling  of  every  hearer  should  be  that  of 
reverence,  as  in  the  presence  of  the  Infinite  and  the  Holy 
One.  If  a  sense  of  the  divine  excellency  fall  upon  us  in 
God's  house,  it  will  make  us  suitably  afraid.  The  place  will 
be  sacred.  And  it  will  be  good  for  us  to  be  there. 


LONG-WINDED   SPEAKERS. 

His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Blank  was  presiding  at  a 
public  meeting,  when  and  where  the  Rev.  Rowland  Hill  was 
to  be  one  of  the  speakers.  One  who  preceded  him  had  the 
bad  taste,  bad  manners  and  great  folly  to  talk  an  hour  and 
more,  to  the  weariness  of  the  audience,  the  disgust  of  the 
chairman,  and  the  injury  of  the  cause  for  the  promotion  of 
which  the  meeting  had  been  called.  The  Duke  whispered  to 
Mr.  Hill,  who  sat  near  him,  "  Really,  Mr.  Hill,  I  do  not  think 
I  can  sit  to  hear  such  another  speech  as  this :  I  wish  you 
would  give  one  of  your  good-natured  hints  about  it."  When 
the  man  on  his  legs  had  at  last  exhausted  himself,  as  well  as 
his  hearers,  and  had  subsided,  Mr.  Hill  arose  and  said  : 

"  May  it  please  your  Royal  Highness,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  am  not  going  to  make  a  long  speech,  or  a  moving  speech. 
The  first  is  a  rudeness,  and  the  second  is  not  required  to-day : 
after  the  very  moving  one  you  have  just  heard,  so  moving 
that  several  of  the  company  have  been  moved  by  it  out  of 
the  room ;  nay,  I  even  fear  such  another  would  so  move  his 
Royal  Highness  himself  that  he  would  be  unable  to  continue 
in  the  chair,  and  would,  to  the  great  regret  of  the  meeting, 
be  obliged  to  move  off." 

This  put  an  end  to  the  long  speeches  of  that  day,  but  it  did 
not  put  an  end  to  the  evil.  For  it  is  an  evil  that  has  held  its 
own  in  spite  of  all  remedies,  and  is  quite  as  afflictive  and 
fatal  now  as  ever. 

Even  this  eccentric  yet  very  sensible  man,  as  he  became 
old,  would  spin  out  his  discourses  to  an  unreasonable  length, 


LONG -WINDED   SPEAKERS.  121 

to  the  injury  of  their  effect,  and  consequently  to  the  detri 
ment  of  Christ's  cause.  He  continued  to  preach  long  after 
he  was  fourscore,  and,  though  feeble  when  he  began,  he 
v/armed  up  with  his  work,  preached  the  people  into  a  good 
frame,  and  then  preached  them  out  of  it  again.  He  would 
say,  after  finding  that  he  had  been  preaching  more  than  an 
hour,  "  Well,  I  am  sure  I  had  not  an  idea  of  it :  it  was  too 
long  for  me  and  too  long  for  the  people  :  but  when  I  am 
once  set  a-going  I  cannot  stop.  I  must  be  shorter." 

In  one  of  his  letters,  Mr.  Hill  speaks  of  the  sufferings  of 
those  who  are  obliged  to  endure  long  speeches,  "  without  any 
remedy  or  redress,  upon  the  high  fidgets,  above  half  the  time 
gaping  and  watching  the  clock."  "  In  most  of  the  public 
meetings,  I  have  been  tired  down  before  they  are  half  over, 
and  have  been  obliged  to  sheer  off  with  the  remains  of  my 
patience,  and  leave  the  finishing  to  others. 

"  In  the  way  in  which  too  many  of  these  public  meetings  are 
conducted,  I  have  my  fears  that  many  a  good  cause  is  injured 
by  the  means  adopted  for  their  support.  Though  some  may 
be  gratified  by  what  may  be  said  to  the  point,  yet,  oh,  the? 
dulness,  the  circumlocutionness,  the  conceit,  the  tautology  of 
others.  In  short,  few  know  how  to  be  pithy,  short  and  sweet. 
And  as  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  be  pithy  and  sweet,  my 
refuge  at  all  times  is  to  be  short." 

My  sympathies  are  with  Mr.  Hill  and  the  other  man  who 
said,  "  If  I  never  did  a  great  thing  in  my  life,  I  am  sure  I 
never  did  a  long  thing."  While  the  Scotch  minister  was  of 
a  very  different  disposition  who  was  asked  if  he  was  not  very 
much  exhausted  after  preaching  three  hours  ;  he  said,  "  O 
no ;  but  it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how  worried 
the  people  were." 

Dr.  Emmons,  a  celebrated  New  England  divine,  was  wont 
to  say  to  young  ministers :  "  Be  short  in  all  religious  exer 
cises.  Better  leave  the  people  longing  than  loathing.  No 
conversions  after  the  first  half  hour." 

The  last  remark  is  terrible,  and  perhaps  not  literally  true, 
but  there  is  a  thought  in  it  to  be  pondered  by  preachers  and 
all  public  speakers.  To  carry  conviction  home  to  the  heart, 


122  IRENJEUS  LETTERS. 

to  persuade  men  to  will  and  do  that  to  which  they  are 
now  averse,  this  is  the  work  which  the  speaker  sets  before 
him,  and  he  makes  a  grand  blunder  if  he  imagines  that  he  is 
becoming  more  and  more  effective  as  they  become  weary  and 
wish  that  he  would  be  done.  Of  this  sort  of  preachers  was 
he  who,  when  he  had  split  his  subject  into  so  many  heads  as 
to  split  the  heads  of  his  hearers,  and  harried  them  under 
each  division  beyond  all  reason,  at  last  exclaimed, 

"  And  what  shall  I  say  more  !" 

"  Say,  amen,"  said  a  child  who  was  one  of  the  few  awake. 

When  we  censure  these  men  of  lungs,  who  love  to  be  on 
their  legs  when  their  hearers  wish  them  to  sit  down",  we  are 
uniformly  met  with  the  reply  that,  "  in  old  times,"  it  was  com 
mon  to  preach  one,  two  and  even  three  hours :  and  the  fault 
is  in  the  people,  and  not  in  the  speaker,  if  these  long  services 
are  not  acceptable  now.  But  a  sensible  man  will  take  things 
as  they  are,  and  make  them  better  if  he  can.  Things  are 
not  now  as  they  once  were.  And  if  the  age  has  become 
impatient  of  long  speeches  and  heavy  essays,  and  learned 
books,  let  us  give  the  age  what  it  will  hear  and  read,  and  do 
it  all  the  good  we  can. 

The  man  who  overdoes  the  matter  in  public  address,  usu 
ally  is  betrayed  into  the  mistake  by  forgetfulness  of  the  flight 
of  time,  or  by  a  secret  self-conceit  of  his  own  that  he  is  enter 
taining  and  instructing  the  audience.  Some  men  actually 
mistake  for  applause  the  good-natured  efforts  of  the  people 
to  remind  them  that  they  have  had  enough. 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  a  rule  on  the  subject,  by  which 
the  length  of  a  speech  or  sermon  is  to  be  measured.  We 
ought  to  have  some  plan  by  which,  at  public  meetings,  a 
speaker  may  be  brought  to  his  bearings  when  he  has  been  up 
to  his  allotted  time.  And  in  these  days  of  electrical  tele 
graphs,  what  hinders  the  construction  of  an  apparatus,  easily 
adjusted  to  every  platform,  by  which  a  dull  speaker  may  be 
shaken  up  a  little,  and  the  long-winded  one  reminded  that 
his  time  is  out,  and  then  if  he  will  not  sit  down,  he  shall  be 
knocked  over  gently.  Such  a  contrivance  would  greatly 
enliven  public  meetings,  and  tend  to  increase  their  useful- 


HENRY  AND  HILDEQRAND.  123 

ness.  Should  any  inventive  genius  put  this  hint  into  prac 
tical  operation,  no  claim  of  priority  will  ever  disturb  his 
patent ;  I  throw  it  out  for  the  use  of  the  public. 

Be  short.  You  may  not  be  able  to  make  a  great  speech. 
But  you  can  be  short.  Some  of  the  most  effective  speeches 
ever  made  were  short.  Generals  on  the  eve  of  battle  are 
brief.  He  who  spake  as  never  man  spake,  said  few  words  at 
a  time.  The  time  is  short.  Life  is  short. 


HENRY  AND   HILDEBRAND. 

This  tenth  day  of  January  is  a  memorable  anniversary. 
The  Jesuits  celebrate  it.  It  revives  the  memory  of  the 
proudest  day  in  the  history  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the 
date  of  the  beginning  of  its  fall. 

Eight  hundred  years  ago,  Henry  IV.,  Emperor  of  Ger 
many,  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  with  a  rope  around  his 
neck,  stood  at  the  gate  of  Canossa  Castle,  begging  for  par 
don,  while  Gregory  VII.,  the  haughty  Hildebrand,  revelled 
in  luxury  with  the  Countess  Matilda  within.  By  some 
writers  she  is  spoken  of  as  his  paramour.  There  are  Prot 
estant  historians  who  believe  the  relations  of  the  Pope  and 
the  Countess  were  pure.  They  were  certainly  not  discreet. 

This  Pope  was  a  great  reformer,  and  the  dissoluteness  of 
his  clergy  was  the  chief  object  at  which  he  directed  his 
blows.  He  forbade  them  to  marry  also,  thus  vindicating  the 
now  admitted  supremacy  of  Popery  in  the  art  of  doing  one 
thing  and  pretending  to  do  another.  The  priests  were  dis 
solute  in  their  morals,  and  the  Pope  prohibited  the  mar 
riage  of  those  who  would  lead  lives  of  purity  in  holy  wed 
lock  according  to  the  law  of  God. 

The  Jesuits  throughout  the  world  observe  this  day  as  the 
anniversary — the  Sooth — of  the  degradation  of  the  Emperor 
of  Germany  at  the  feet  of  the  Pope  of  Rome.  The  story  is 
the  most  romantic  in  the  annals  of  Popery,  and  the  day  is 


124  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

a  pivot  in  the  history  of  that  great  anti-Christian  power. 
That  was  the  day  when  the  power  of  the  Pope  of  Rome  was 
at  its  zenith.  All  earthly  kings  and  kingdoms  were  then  at 
his  disposal.  From  that  day  began  his  fall,  which  has  been 
steadily  going  lower  and  lower,  until  to-day,  Jan.  10,  1877, 
there  is  not  one  crowned  head  in  Europe  who  cares  a  six 
pence  for  the  Pope  of  Rome.  And  the  successor  of  that 
mighty  Hildebrand,  who  claimed  to  be  and  was  at  that  time 
the  disposer  of  all  lands  on  earth,  is  not  now  the  proprietor 
in  fee  of  a  foot  of  ground  beneath  the  sun. 

Like  Lucifer  he  has  fallen,  never  to  rise  again.  The 
sceptre  has  passed  out  of  his  hand,  and  instead  of  having 
kings  standing  as  beggars  at  his  gate,  there  is  none  so  poor 
to  do  him  reverence.  And  he  begs  pence  from  the  chamber 
maids  of  New  York  and  the  peasants  of  Ireland  under  the 
pretence  of  being  a  prisoner  in  the  Vatican,  dependent  on 
the  charity  of  his  poor  parishioners. 

History  furnishes  no  such  example  of  a  retributive  provi 
dence. 

Henry  IV.  of  Germany  claimed  the  divine  right  of  kings, 
as  one  ordained  of  God,  and  mocked  the  notion  of  the  age 
that  the  Pope  was  supreme  in  States  as  well  as  in  the 
Church.  The  Pope  and  he  fell  out,  and  the  Pope  beat  him. 
For  in  that  dark  age,  when  a  bishop  might  be  unable  to 
read  or  write,  and  there  was  far  more  superstition  than 
religion  in  the  Church,  the  people  thought  the  Pope  had 
two  swords,  the  spiritual  and  the  secular,  and  with  the 
former  he  could  cut  off  a  bishop's  head,  and  with  the  other 
a  king's  head,  whenever  he  wanted  exercise. 

Henry  excommunicated  Hildebrand,  and  Hildebrand  ex 
communicated  Henry.  The  Pope  absolved  Henry's  subjects 
from  their  allegiance,  claiming  this  right  as  vested  in  the 
head  of  the  Church.  This  proclamation  fell  like  a  pall  of 
death  on  the  fortunes  of  the  King.  His  subjects  turned 
away  from  him.  His  allies  deserted  him.  The  Suabian 
and  Saxon  princes  assembled  in  solemn  conclave,  and  deter 
mined  to  elect  a  new  king  who  would  obey  the  Pope. ,  Henry 
quailed  and  finally  succumbed.  The  man  went  out  of  him. 


HENRY  AND  HILDEBRAND.  12$ 

He  consented  to  humble  himself  before  the  Pope  and  ask 
forgiveness.  In  the  coldest  winter  then  known  in  the  mem 
ory  of  man,  he  set  out  before  Christmas  day,  and,  through 
incredible  sufferings,  he  crossed  the  Alps  in  storms  of  snow 
and  the  freezing  cold,  with  his  wife  and  child.  The  Pope 
had  taken  up  his  residence  in  the  Castle  of  Canossa,  with 
the  Countess  Matilda,  and  there  awaited  the  coming  of  the 
humbled  monarch.  Before  the  excommunicated  sovereign 
went  a  melancholy  procession  of  excommunicated  bishops 
and  nobles  who  shared  his  fortunes,  and  were  now  with 
him  seeking  absolution.  They,  too,  were  barefoot,  for  they 
were  all  beggars  together.  The  haughty  Pope  put  each  one 
of  them  into  a  solitary  cell,  and  finally  sent  them  back  with 
his  ghostly  pardon.  But  he  reserved  his  chief  terrors  for 
the  prostrate  monarch.  Admitted  within  the  first  gate,  the 
king  was  made  to  stand  in  the  second  enclosure,  barefoot 
and  fasting,  for  three  whole  days  and  nights,  in  the  bitter 
cold  of  winter,  while  the  Pope  and  the  woman  revelled  in 
their  luxury  within.  At  last  the  Pope  yielded  to  the  impor 
tunities  of  the  woman  and  admitted  the  degraded  king  into 
his  presence,  and  finally  patched  up  a  peace  with  him. 

This  was  the  bold  assertion  of  the  supremacy  of  the 
Church  of  Rome  above  the  governments  of  the  world.  It  is 
the  doctrine  of  the  Church  to-day.  It  is  taught  in  the  writ 
ings  of  the  authorized  teachers  of  that  Church  in  the  city  of 
New  York  to-day.  What  was  the  effect  of  the  scene  we 
have  now  described  ?  Henry  returned  to  Germany,  rallied 
his  people,  who  came  back  to  their  senses  and  allegiance, 
marched  upon  the  Pope  and  put  him  into  prison.  An  old 
enemy  of  his  delivered  him,  and  he  was  set  up  only  to  be 
cast  down  again  ;  and  loaded  with  contempt  and  scorn,  torn 
with  disappointment  and  chagrin,  he  perished  a  miserable 
exile  from  power. 

From  that  day,  Jan.  10,  1077 — the  battle  has  been  going  on 
until  the  Pope  found  his  Waterloo  at  Sedan.  Down  to  that 
downfall  of  the  last  French  Empire,  he  had  managed  to 
keep  up  the  illusion  of  temporal  sovereignty ;  playing  at  the 
game  of  kings  and  pretending  that  he  was  one  of  the  rulers 


126  1RENJEUS  LETTERS. 

among  the  powers  that  be.  But  one  after  another  of  the 
kingdoms  that  were  once  governed  by  the  permission  of  the 
Pope  have  outgrown  the  superstition  of  his  right,  and  when 
the  dogma  of  Infallibility  was  proclaimed,  and  the  last  friend 
of  the  Pope  followed  it  up  by  a  declaration  of  war  against 
the  successor  of  Henry  IV.,  Hildebrand's  old  foe,  THEN 
began  the  final  struggle  between  the  claims  of  the  Pope  on 
one  hand  and  the  rights  of  men  on  the  other.  It  was  Roman 
ism  represented  by  the  Pope  and  Napoleon,  and  it  was  the 
Protestant  principle  incarnate  in  the  stern  old  German  King. 
How  firm  the  tread  of  the  monarch  as  he  came  to  do  the 
will  of  God !  How  the  legions  of  superstition,  with  the 
blessing  of  the  Pope  on  their  eagles,  went  down  like  grass 
before  the  scythe,  as  the  mighty  Northmen  moved  on  and 
avenged  the  loth  of  January,  1077? 

The  spirit  and  the  doctrine  and  the  purpose  of  the  Church 
of  Rome  are  to-day  identical  with  those  of  eight  hundred 
years  ago.  This  is  the  boast  of  the  Church.  That  is  what 
the  Jesuits  celebrate  to-day.  In  all  their  high  places,  in  their 
secret  recesses  and  vast  assemblies,  cathedrals  and  colleges, 
with  incense,  and  song  and  organ  peal,  and  procession,  ban 
ners  and  sacramental  service,  they  commemorate  on  this  day 
the  anniversary  of  their  enjoyment  of  the  loftiest  throne  the 
world  ever  saw;  when  the  servant  (as  they  pretend)  of  the 
meek  and  lowly  Jesus  stood  on  the  neck  of  the  mightiest 
Emperor,  and  looking  abroad  over  all  the  earth,  saw  no 
monarch  who  could  stay  his  hand  or  say,  "Why  doest 
thou  so  ?" 

The  struggle  is  not  over ;  for  in  the  nations  where  a  free 
Bible,  and  a  free  school  and  a  free  press  abound,  there,  here 
the  successors  of  the  men  of  the  eleventh  century  are  making 
one  more  fight.  If  we  are  true  to  our  religion,  it  will  be  the 
last. 


HOLD  UP  YOUR  HEAD.  127 


HOLD  UP  YOUR  HEAD :  SPEAK  LOUD  AND  PLAIN. 

During  the  travels  of  the  last  few  weeks  and  months,  it 
has  been  a  duty  or  privilege,  and  sometimes  both,  to  attend 
diverse  conventions  of  able,  learned,  earnest  or  good  men,  in 
•the  interests  of  religion  or  science  or  politics. 

The  first  was  the  Presbyterian  General  Assembly,  where 
five  hundred  ministers  and  elders  met  and  spent  a  fortnight 
in  the  business  of  the  Church.  The  second  was  the  Scien 
tific  Association.  The  other  was  a  political  State  Conven 
tion  to  nominate  a  Governor  and  other  officers  for  the 
November  election. 

The  ministers  and  elders  often  failed  to  make  themselves 
heard  when  addressing  the  house.  This  failure  did  not 
spring  from  a  want  of  lung  power,  or  from  any  defect  in 
vocal  organs.  It  may  be  safely  assumed  that  no  sensible 
man  who  has  a  weakness  or  want  of  the  faculty  of  speech, 
will  undertake  to  make  a  dumb-show  in  the  presence  of  a 
congregation  whose  time  and  patience  are  limited.  But  it  is 
no  less  true  that  nine  out  of  ten  failed  to  be  heard  distinctly 
and  usefully  over  the  whole  house.  The  fault  was  entirely 
with  the  speakers.  They  did  not  try  to  be  heard.  The  few 
immediately  around  them  might  be  conscious  of  their  wis 
dom,  but  to  the  less  favored,  who  sat  in  the  more  benighted 
regions,  they  were  merely  beating  the  air. 

This  same  fault  is  common  in  the  pulpit.  Ministers  often 
let  their  voices  fall  toward  the  end  of  each  sentence,  and  the 
last  few  words  are  quite  inaudible  to  those  in  the  distance. 

I  once  heard  a  pastor  say :  "  I  desire  particular  attention 
to  the  following  notices" — then  he  gave  the  notices,  and  the 
people  sitting  around  me  could  not  hear  even  the  subject 
matter  of  the  notices,  much  less  the  times  and  places  named. 

In  every  theological  seminary  there  should  be  a  school  for 
training  the  voice :  teaching  and  requiring  young  men  to 
hold  up  their  heads,  to  speak  loud  and  plain.  If  the  greatest 
of  Grecian  orators  confronted  the  waves  of  the  sea  to  enable 
himself  to  master  the  roar  of  a  great  assembly,  surely  Chris- 


128  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

tian  preachers  ought  to  qualify  themselves  to  speak  so  as  to 
be  heard. 

In  the  Assembly,  and  in  all  ministers'  meetings,  there  are 
few  men  who  speak  out  so  loud  and  plain  that  they  com- 
mand  attention,  and  reach  the  understanding  of  their  hearers 
by  sound  words  with  sound  enough  to  be  heard.  Dr.  Mus- 
grave  is  one  of  the  men  who  are  always  heard.  Because  he 
speaks  plainly,  the  house  always  listens.  There  are  compen 
sations  in  Providence,  and  as  he  has  not  as  perfect  eyesight 
as  many  of  his  brethren,  God  has  given  him  a  better  voice 
than  any  of  them.  Dr.  Darling,  of  Albany,  speaks  distinctly 
and  forcibly,  and  never  fails  to  be  heard  with  attention.  The 
elders  are  rarely  willing  to  speak  up  so  as  to  reach  the  remote 
parts  of  the  house.  Mr.  W.  E.  Dodge  and  Judge  Drake  were 
not  heard  for  their  much  speaking,  but  when  they  did  speak 
they  were  easily  heard.  Rev.  Dr.  Crosby  is  a  model  speaker 
in  debate  or  in  the  pulpit.  Would  that  all  the  Lord's  proph 
ets  would  open  their  mouths  wide  when  they  prophesy. 

But  if  the  religious  people  were  afraid  to  speak  out  so  as 
to  be  heard,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  scientists  ?  Men  of 
learning  and  renown,  who  had  consumed  midnight  hours  and 
oil  in  preparing  papers  for  public  reading,  appeared  to  the 
weary  hearer  to  be  pouring  a  confidential  communication  into 
the  ear  of  the  patient  President.  Not  a  sentence  of  a  half- 
hour  or  an  hour-long  treatise  was  audible  twenty  feet  from 
the  platform  on  which  the  modest  master  of  art  and  science 
whispered  his  discoveries  and  calculations.  Exhausted  in 
vain  attempts  to  gather  wisdom  from  lips  that  the  bees  of 
Hymettus  had  kissed,  I  sometimes  fell  asleep,  and  after 
refreshing  dreams,  awoke  to  find  the  flow  of  silence  going 
on  with  the  same  delicious  calm  that  lulled  me  into  repose 
again. 

Now  these  papers  will  be  read  with  interest  and  profit  in 
print,  and  the  Association  deserves  the  gratitude  of  the  pub 
lic  for  important  contributions.  But  there  is  very  little 
advantage  in  getting  an  audience  without  giving  it  something 
to  hear.  It  is  not  eloquence,  oratory,  the  graces  and  charm 
of  public  speaking,  for  which  I  am  pleading.  Few,  very  few, 


HOLD  UP  YOUR  HEAD.  12p 

have  the  gift.  Few  have  been  trained  to  the  perfection  of 
this  highest  of  all  arts.  The  greatest  orator  is  the  leader  of 
men.  It  is  not  every  man  who  is  called  to  be  a  great  speaker. 
But  if  a  man  cannot  or  will  not  speak  so  as  to  be  heard,  he 
is  not  called  of  God  to  speak  in  public.  Whether  a  man  of 
religion,  letters,  or  science,  if  he  cannot  hold  up  his  head, 
speak  loud  and  plain,  it  were  well  that  he  had  the  grace  of 
silence. 

But  the  politicians !  They  met  in  the  Town  Hall.  It  was 
packed,  piled,  jammed.  It  was  turbulent,  restless,  impatient, 
disorderly.  But  when  a  man  was  on  his  legs  he  spoke  so  as 
to  be  heard,  or  the  multitude  put  him  down.  When  they 
found  that  he  had  not  the  gift  of  voice  or  sense,  they  gave 
him  rounds  of  applause  that  cheered  his  heart  at  first,  but  it 
went  on  and  on  until  he  found  there  was  no  chance  for  him, 
and  sinking  into  the  abyss,  "the  subsequent  proceedings 
interested  him  no  more." 

Then  sprang  to  his  feet — no — he  had  no  feet,  for  both 
were  shot  off  in  the  war — but  to  his  stumps,  a  little  fellow, 
whose  shrill  voice  rang  like  a  clarion  :  the  waves  were  stilled : 
his  earnest,  impassioned  tones  pierced  the  remotest  corners 
of  the  house  while  he  extolled  his  hero  :  and  in  seven  min 
utes  he  fixed  the  flints  of  the  convention  and  carried  his  man 
in  triumph.  All  these  political  speakers  spoke  to  be  heard 
and  so  that  they  could  be  heard.  No  one  of  them  dawdled 
with  his  subject :  or  talked  as  if  he  were  half  asleep : 
or  let  his  voice  down  with  a  half-finished  sentence:  or 
suffered  his  cause  to  fail  for  lack  of  physical  and  intel 
lectual  work.  They  threw  their  soul  and  body  into  the 
struggle.  "They  fought,  like  brave  men,  long  and  well." 
They  compelled  attention  and  got  it.  And  I  said  to  myself, 
"For  what  is  all  this?"  And  the  answer  came — "They 
fight  for  men  :  for  place :  for  power  over  one  another  :  for 
office :  the  spoils :  but  they  could  not  be  more  in  earnest  if 
heaven  were  to  be  stormed  and  immortal  glory  were  the  prize 
and  price  of  victory." 

It  was  nearing  midnight  when  I  left  them  in  the  fight  and 
stepped  out  beneath  the  stars.  And  the  infinite  distance 


13°  IREN^US  LETTERS. 

between  the  visible  and  the  invisible,  the  temporal  and 
eternal,  appeared  in  the  light  of  those  lamps  of  God.  If  min 
isters  of  Christ,  elders  in  the  Church,  men  who  bear  the 
responsibilities  of  God's  work  on  earth,  all  who  wear  the 
name  of  Christian  and  rejoice  in  being  redeemed,  were  as 
much  in  earnest  as  these  political  leaders,  how  they  would 
push  on  the  columns,  until  they  had  made  Jesus  the  King  of 
the  Jews  and  Gentiles,  and  crowned  him  Lord  of  all. 

It  is  easy  to  say  that  sense  is  of  more  account  than  sound  : 
that  sound  and  fury  signify  nothing :  and  that  the  noisiest 
speakers  are  often  the  windiest :  that  word  reminds  me  of  a 
little  story — 

This  summer  two  distinguished  Scotch  ministers  were  on 
their  travels,  and  together  worshipped  in  a  cathedral  where 
the  organ  was  so  rapturously  lovely  that  one  of  the  ministers, 
an  earnest  hater  of  instruments  in  public  worship,  was  com 
pletely  overcome  by  the  power  of  the  music.  As  they 
emerged  from  the  temple,  he  said  to  his  brother,  "  I  will 
never  speak  another  word  against  wind  instruments,  not 
even  against  you" 

But  this  is  not  to  the  point.  My  point  is  that  preachers 
and  all  public  speakers  should  speak  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  all  the  people  in  the  house.  As  a  hearer  I  sit  before  the 
preacher  and  see  the  movements  of  his  lips,  and  as  the  man 
on  the  outside  of  the  crowd  said,  when  Senator  Preston  was 
speaking  in  the  street,  "  He  does  the  motion  splendid,"  I 
say  with  the  Apostle  Paul,  "  If  I  know  not  the  meaning  of 
the  voice,  he  that  speaketh  shall  be  a  barbarian  unto  me." 


AMONG    THE  ICEBERGS.  131 


AMONG  THE  ICEBERGS. 

The  rush  of  the  Arizona  into  an  iceberg,  and  the  awful 
peril  of  her  passengers,  bring  to  mind  an  old  experience.  In 
the  month  of  March,  1854,  I  left  Liverpool  for  New  York 
in  the  steamer  Baltic,  Capt.  Briggs,  of  the  Collins  line.  It 
was  my  first  voyage  on  a  steamship,  and  naturally  I  was 
more  sensitive  to  the  several  forms  of  danger  than  those  are 
who  have  long  been  in  the  habit  of  "  going  down  to  the  sea 
in  ships." 

We  had  been  out  a  few  days  only,  I  might  say  hours,  before 
I  was  well  satisfied  that  the  captain  would  take  the  ship 
safely  into  port,  if  it  required  a  year.  The  ship  was  new, 
stanch,  and  steady,  and  a  well-built  ship  is  as  safe  on  the  sea 
as  a  house  is  on  the  land.  If  this  appears  to  be  an  extravagant 
remark,  let  me  add  that  the  best  built  dwellings  are  exposed 
to  fire,  lightning,  hurricanes  and  mobs,  and  that  a  good  ship 
is  exposed  to  no  more  and  no  greater  perils  than  these.  The 
greatest  danger  to  a  ship  arises  from  the  incapacity  or  negli 
gence  of  those  who  navigate  her,  and  against  these  dangers 
no  human  foresight  is  adequate  to  provide.  You  pay  your 
money  and  take  your  choice  of  steamers  according  to  the 
best  information  you  can  get  of  the  judgment  of  the  men  who 
manage  the  line.  They  may  be  deceived.  And  you  may  be 
lost  at  sea.  But  the  risks  are  not  much  greater  than  in  cross 
ing  Broadway  a  thousand  times,  or  travelling  by  rail  from 
Boston  to  San  Francisco. 

Some  years  ago  a  stranger  came  into  my  office,  and  with 
out  introduction  went  on  to  say — "  Long  before  the  time  when 
steamboats  were  on  the  river,  I  was  going  from  New  York  to 
Albany  on  a  sloop  with  several  passengers.  When  we 
reached  Tappan  Zee,  a  great  storm  arose,  and  many  were 
afraid  the  vessel  would  be  overwhelmed.  In  the  midst  of 
the  alarm  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  stepped  from  the 
cabin,  and  in  a  sweet  voice,  but  without  trembling,  she  said. 
•  In  God's  hands,  we  are  as  safe  on  the  water  as  the  land.' 
That  lady  became  your  mother.  I  have  made  her  words  my 


I32  IRENJEUS  LETTERS. 

motto  through,  life :  have  watched  you  so  far  in  yours,  and 
thought  you  would  be  interested  in  this  incident."  Having 
said  this,  the  stranger  took  his  departure.  And  I  will  return 
to  the  Baltic  and  Captain  Briggs. 

The  weather  proved  bad.  The  voyage  was  disagreeable. 
There  were  only  forty  or  fifty  cabin  passengers  on  board,  giv 
ing  us  more  room  than  company.  But  the  silent,  incessant 
vigilance  of  the  commander  inspired  us  all  with  a  sense  of 
serene  security,  so  that  we  seemed  to  one  another  prisoners 
indeed,  but  sure  to  be  well  cared  for,  and  in  due  time  set  at 
liberty.  A  week  out,  and  we  came  into  the  region  where  ice 
bergs  might  be  expected,  whether  the  almanac  said  so  or  not. 
In  the  morning  I  was  on  deck  with  the  Captain,  and  he  called 
my  attention  to  a  blazing,  white  light,  in  the  distance,  like 
the  reflection  of  a  mighty  mirror  set  in  the  horizon,  or  a  pal 
ace  of  ice  or  glass  coming  down  out  of  heaven. 

"  That's  an  iceberg,"  he  said  calmly.  I  had  never  seen  one, 
and  rejoiced  greatly  that  we  were  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  one  so  soon.  The  captain  did  not  share  my  enjoy 
ment. 

Drop  a  bit  of  ice  into  a  tumbler  of  water.  It  floats,  but 
almost  the  whole  of  it  is  below  the  surface.  A  small  frac 
tion  of  the  mass  is  out.  As  the  gravity  of  ice  is  to  water,  so 
is  the  part  above  the  surface  to  the  part  below.  It  makes  no 
difference  how  large  or  how  small  the  lump.  It  may  be  as  big 
as  a  mountain,  or  as  small  as  an  apple,  nine  times  as  much  of 
its  weight  will  be  under  the  water  as  above  it.  If,  then,  the 
huge  mass  stands  like  the  Pyramid  of  Cheops  out  of  the  sea, 
it  reaches  nearly  nine  times  as  far  below.  Such  was  the 
immense  cathedral-like,  turreted,  towering,  stupendous  pile 
as  we  gave  it  a  wide  margin,  and  passed  it,  glowing  and  bril 
liant  in  the  clear,  cold  morning  sun.  With  the  knowledge 
of  its  proportions,  and  the  necessary  fate  of  a  ship  that  should 
run  upon  it,  we  looked  with  awe  while  its  beauty  was  fascin 
ating.  There  was  "  a  weight  of  glory"  in  it. 

The  iceberg  which  the  Arizona  sought  to  go  through  was 
seen  from  the  Anchoria,  and  its  dimensions  were  estimated 
at  one  hundred  feet  in  height  and  five  hundred  feet  in 


AMONG   THE  ICEBERGS.  133 

breadth  ;  a  solid  block  one  thousand  feet  by  five  hundred, 
millions  of  solid  feet  of  ice. 

The  steamer  President  had  gone  from  New  York  with  a 
precious  company  on  board,  to  cross  the  sea,  and  had  gone 
down  without  a  sign.  Not  a  spar  or  plank,  not  a  cry,  not  a 
rumor,  had  ever  come  to  any  shore  to  intimate  the  fate  of  one 
of  that  great  company.  Whether  the  eloquent  Chaplain  Cook- 
man  had  time  to  speak  to  them  of  the  sailor's  Friend,  we 
never  knew,  but  the  general  impression  was,  and  still  is,  that, 
being  very  heavily  laden  and  running  against  an  iceberg,  she 
went  down  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  We  shall  know  no 
more  about  it  until  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead. 

We  talked  of  this  and  other  disasters  all  that  day,  and  as 
another  night  set  in,  and  we  were  still  in  the  region  which 
icebergs  traverse,  it  seemed  to  me  quite  important  that  I 
should  take  care"  of  the  ship. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  Captain  ?"  I  said. 

"  Nothing  but  what  was  done  last  night." 

He  then  kindly  explained  to  me  the  special  watches  that 
were  set,  the  extra  spies,  the  positions  they  occupied,  the 
mode  of  changes,  and  the  watchmen  to  watch  the  watchmen, 
and  then  he  added  : 

"  I  am  here  as  I  was  through  the  night  before,  and  shall  be 
until  we  are  out  of  all  danger." 

At  ten  o'clock  I  went  below  and  turned  in,  to  meditate  on 
the  horrors  of  a  night  encounter  with  an  iceberg ;  and  to  roll 
with  the  ship  till  the  morning.  I  thought  of  that  "  young 
and  beautiful  woman"  whose  words  had  comforted  a  stranger 
in  many  storms.  I  thought  of  Him  who  holds  the  waves 
and  his  children  in  his  hands.  And  the  faithful  captain  who 
is  the  agent  of  Divine  Providence  for  my  care — and — and 
— and — just  then  the  morning  sun  was  shining  into  my 
port-window  and  I  had  been  sleeping  soundly  eight  good 
hours. 

But  the  vigilance  of  the  captain  was  not  relaxed  until  his 
ship  was  safely  in  port. 

I  was  on  the  platform  when  Everett  made  his  splendid 
oration  at  the  inauguration  of  the  Albany  Observatory  in  1 856 


134  1REN/EUS  LETTERS. 

and  heard  him  relate  this  incident :  "  Coming  across  the 
Atlantic  on  a  steamer,  I  asked  the  captain  how  near  he  could 
determine  the  precise  location  of  his  ship  by  the  best  obser 
vations.  He  said  within  about  three  miles.  When  we  were 
supposed  to  be  off  Cape  Race  and  were  pacing  the  deck,  I 
asked  him  how  far  he  supposed  the  Cape  to  be,  and  he  said, 
'  Perhaps  three  or  four  miles.'  Thus,  according  to  his  own 
reckoning,  we  might  be  on  the  Cape  any  moment,  for  he 
could  not  tell  within  three  miles  where  we  were." 

Such  a  fact  illustrates,  and  ought  to  compel,  the  extremest 
vigilance  and  carefulness,  because  after  all  is  done  that  can 
be  done,  on  sea  or  on  land,  the  skill  and  the  power  of  man 
have  their  limits,  and  our  refuge  is  in  God. 


AN  INTERESTING  BEGGAR. 

In  the  midst  of  my  morning  studies  yesterday,  when  every 
moment  is  precious  to  a  man  of  business  or  letters ;  when 
every  pastor  or  student  wishes  to  be  let  alone ;  when 
thoughtless  or  impudent  people  make  it  a  point  to  call 
because  they  are  quite  sure  to  catch  their  victim  in  ;  it  was 
during  these  precious  hours  that  I  was  summoned  to  give 
attention  to  a  young  lady  who  wished  to  see  me  on  very 
urgent  business. 

With  that  sense  of  being  annoyed,  if  not  irritated,  which 
every  hardworking  man  feels,  when  his  favorite  and  only 
hours  of  solitary  labor  are  rudely  broken  in  upon  by  a  rob 
ber  of  his  time,  I  laid  aside  my  pen  that  was  just  then  trying 
to  do  its  very  best  for  you,  dear  friend,  and  reluctantly 
waited  upon  the  young  woman  who  had  made  this  unsea 
sonable  demand. 

She  was  neatly  dressed,  very  small,  delicately  featured, 
invalid  in  appearance,  pale,  thin,  tender-eyed.  And  thus 
looking,  thus  she  spoke  : 

"  My  mother  and  I  are  now  in  this  city,  in  great  distress 


AN  INTERESTING  BEGGAR.  13$ 

for  the  want  of  a  small  sum  of  money.  Mother  is  a  writer 
for  the  press  ;  she  contributes  to  the  literary  periodicals  and 
has  several  pieces  in  the  hands  of  publishers,  from  whom 
she  is  in  daily  expectation  of  receiving  money ;  but  we  have 
been  compelled  to  go  from  one  lodging  to  another,  cheaper 
and  cheaper,  until  now  we  are  to  be  turned  into  the  street 
without  shelter.  We  have  had  no  breakfast  to-day,  and 
have  not  the  means  to  pay  for  a  morsel  of  food.  In  this  dis 
tress,  I  have  come  to  you"  (and  here  came  in  some  words 
of  flattery  which  are  omitted  as  not  essential  to  the  story), 
"and,  if  you  will /<?«*/ us  ten  dollars  till  our  remittance  comes 
from  the  publishers,  you  will  save  us  from  suffering,"  etc. 
etc.  etc. 

I  said :  "  To  whom  do  you  refer  me  in  this  city,  that  I 
may  ascertain  the  general  correctness  of  your  statements, 
and  especially  as  to  your  character,  for  I  never  give  to 
strangers  until  I  have  made  inquiries  as  to  their  worthi 
ness  ?" 

"  We  have  no  references,"  she  replied ;  "  we  are  total 
strangers  in  the  city  ;  there  is  not  a  person  of  any  standing 
to  whom  you  could  go  to  learn  anything  of  us  ;  we  are  suf 
fering,  actually  starving,  and  we  want  only  a  little  to  keep 
us  a  few  days  till  our  money  comes  in." 

I  pursued  my  inquiries  until  I  learned  where  they  had 
been  living  for  some  weeks  past,  and,  assuring  her  that  I 
would  attend  to  the  matter  that  very  day,  I  gave  her  a  trifle 
with  which  to  procure  bread  for  the  morning,  and  dismissed 
her.  Her  appeal  was  touching ;  but  it  was  more  the  silent 
pathos  of  her  feeble,  tearful,  pallid,  sinking  appearance,  than 
the  pitiful  tale  she  told.  The  heart  of  old  Pharaoh  would 
have  been  softened  in  her  presence. 

I  returned  to  my  study,  but  the  interview  had  upset  me 
for  the  morning,  and  I  could  think  of  little  else  than  this 
literary  lady  and  her  invalid  daughter  at  the  mercy  of  some 
merciless  landlord,  turned  out  of  doors  and  wanting  shelter 
and  food.  What  a  brute  was  I,  too,  to  be  coolly  sitting 
down  at  my  table,  while  these  interesting  people  were  wait 
ing  with  anxious  hearts  for  the  sweet  relief  that  I  was,  per- 


136  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

haps,  soon  to  bring!  Dropping  my  pen,  I  set  forth  on  this 
errand  of  loving-kindness.  How  good  a  man  feels  when 
thus  engaged !  What  can  be  more  satisfying  to  one's  best 
nature,  than  to  be  able  to  provide  for  the  poor,  especially 
women,  ladies,  literary,  unfortunate  and  very  interesting! 

My  first  call  was  at  the  place  where  they  had  last  boarded. 

"Yes,"  said  the  man  of  the  house,  "they  left  here  yester 
day  to  go  to  the  bank !  and  draw  some  money  with  which  to 
pay  me  what  they  owed  me,  and  they  have  not  returned." 

"  To  the  bank  for  money !  why  I  thought  they  were  poor. " 

"  O  no,"  said  he,  "they  were  very  particular  to  have  every 
thing  of  the  best  quality,  but  they  were  not  particular  about 
the  price  ;  they  paid  freely  until  the  last  day  or  two ;  there 
goes  their  man  now,"  pointing  out  of  the  window  to  a  well- 
dressed  man  walking  by. 

"  They  kept  a  man,  did  they  ?"  "  Yes,  he  was  constantly 
running  of  errands  for  them  ;  but  what  it  was  all  about  I  did 
not  know." 

"  Where  did  they  come  from  to  you  ?"  I  asked.  He  gave 
me  the  name  of  a  hotel,  to  which  I  repaired,  and  introduced 
myself  and  errand  to  the  manager,  who  instantly  responded  : 

"  They  are  not  people,  Sir,  who  deserve  your  sympathy  or 
attention ;  they  have  been  at  other  hotels  and  stayed  as  long 
as  they  could  ;  here  they  had  two  men  with  them,  one  a  mes 
senger  in  their  service ;  a  bad  lot,  Sir ;  quite  unworthy  of 
any  trouble  to  you,  Sir." 

By  this  time  my  eyes  began  to  open  leisurely,  and  I  per 
ceived  that  I  was  running  about  town  after  a  couple  of 
women  whom  I  had  better  drop  before  I  took  them  up. 
But  curiosity,  not  charity,  now  led  me  on,  and  this  was  the 
result. 

For  two  or  three  years  at  least,  and  perhaps  more,  they 
have  been  infesting  this  city,  adventuresses,  preying  upon 
the  clergy  and  literary  people,  raising  money  on  substan 
tially  the  same  story  that  the  little  beggar  told  me.  They 
are  Roman  Catholics,  but  they  are  not  particular  about  the 
religion  of  the  ministers  whom  they  select  as  their  gulls. 
They  write  beautiful  letters,  so  sweet,  so  imploring,  so  sad, 


COWPER  AND  RAY  PALMER.  137 

and  their  messenger,  as  a  friend,  delivers  the  letters  after  a 
call  by  the  invalid  daughter.  They  live  in  luxury  on  the 
money  thus  extracted  from  tender-hearted  shepherds,  whom 
they  fleece  as  innocent  sheep.  They  have  been  generously 
offered  an  asylum  for  life  by  the  Roman  Catholic  Church, 
and  have  refused  to  accept  it,  preferring  to  play  the  confi 
dence  game  which  they  find  so  profitable.  I  feel  quite 
slighted  by  their  neglecting  to  call  on  me  until  they  have 
worn  out  the  patience  of  nearly  all  the  other  "  brethren." 

And  this  disgraceful  story  has  a  moral.  Because  the  most 
of  good  people  give  without  investigating,  wicked  adven 
turers,  impudent  impostors,  and  lazy  huzzies,  with  smooth 
faces,  and  languid  looks,  and  plausible  tales  of  woe,  continue 
to  persecute  the  charitable,  and  to  get  their  living  by  shame 
less  persistence  in  beggary.  There  is  no  law  by  which  they 
can  be  put  into  prison.  But  it  is  a  safe  and  wise  law  for 
every  one  to  enact  for  himself,  "Never  give  one  cent  of 
money  to  a  beggar  on  his  or  her  own  story  alone." 


COWPER  AND  RAY  PALMER 

The  first  of  these  poets  has  been  a  fireside  favorite  in  Chris 
tian  families  for  nearly  a  hundred  years.  "  Melancholy 
marked  him  for  her  own,"  and  the  charm  of  sadness,  a 
strange  sweet  sadness,  lends  a  pathetic  interest  to  h  is  name  and 
works,  so  tender,  holy  and  strong  that  he  will  never  lose  his 
place  in  the  affections  of  those  who  love  pure  English  song. 
From  the  Task  to  John  Gilpin,  the  grave  to  the  gay,  illus 
trating  the  varieties  of  genius  perhaps  as  widely  as  they 
appear  in  any  poems  of  one  author  in  our  language,  we  never 
find  a  line  the  poet  "dying  wished  to  blot,"  while  there  are 
passages  and  pictures  all  the  way  along  that  delight  the  eye 
and  the  ear,  endearing  the  writer  to  the  reader,  making  his 
name  and  his  works  familiar  in  the  family  circle,  and  his  lines 
more  frequently  quoted  with  a  knowledge  of  their  source, 


138  IRE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

than  the  words  of  almost  any  other  of  the  bards  of  Eng 
land. 

The  hymns  of  Cowper  are  the  best  of  his  works.  The 
longer  poems,  like  "  The  Task,"  "  Table  Talk,"  "  Progress  of 
Error,"  have  a  vast  deal  of  prose  in  them,  measured  by  syl 
lables  into  lines  of  equal  length,  and  by  this  process  much 
good  sense  has  been  buried,  for  many  will  read  a  sensible 
essay  who  will  justly  avoid  the  same  thoughts  done  into 
blank  verse,  or  worse  still,  into  rhyme.  But  Cowper  lives  in 
the  hearts  of  Christian  readers  rather  as  the  writer  of  hymns, 
with  which  the  spirit  rises  into  converse  with  the  unseen  and 
eternal,  than  as  the  author  of  the  more  elaborate  poems  that 
cost  him  intense  labor  and  many  pains. 

But  there  is  no  one  of  the  many  poems  of  Cowper  now 
precious  to  the  Church  of  God,  more  valued  by  Christians  in 
this  and  all  other  countries,  than  some  of  the  hymns  of  Ray 
Palmer,  whose  Poetical  Works  have  just  been  published.  It 
has  been  with  him  as  with  many  another  writer  of  songs,  that 
one  of  them  attains  such  a  popular  pre-eminence  that  the 
poet  is  supposed  to  have  that  one  only  offspring.  No  one 
thinks  of  Key  except  as  the  author  of  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner."  What  did  Payne  ever  write  but  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home  ?"  Even  Heber's  Missionary  Hymn  wafts  his  name 
more  widely  than  all  else  he  has  written  or  said.  Dr.  Muh- 
lenberg  will  live  longer  for  teaching  others  to  sing  "  I  would 
not  live  alway,"  than  as  the  founder  of  a  hospital  or  St. 
Johnland.  Charlotte  Elliott  wrote  many  sweet  poems,  but 
"Just  as  I  am  "  is  the  one  thing  she  did,  as  "Nearer,  my  God, 
to  Thee"  is  the  perennial  flower  in  the  wreath  of  Mrs. 
Flower  Adams.  This  list  might  be  readily  enlarged  to 
illustrate  the  now  obvious  fact  that  the  \\4orld  seizes  on  one, 
perhaps  the  best,  perhaps  not  the  best,  but  certainly  the  one 
thing  of  a  writer  that  it  wants,  and  sings  it  along  down  the 
years  of  time ;  does  it  into  the  languages  of  earth ;  and  in  all 
lands  and  climes  it  becomes  the  censer  in  which  the  saints 
offer  their  praise  and  longing  desires  before  the  Throne.  To 
give  the  human  soul  fit  words  to  express  what  it  otherwise 
could  not  utter  is  an  unspeakable  pleasure.  And  so,  I  think, 


COWPER  AND  RAY  PALMER.  139 

the  makers  of  those  old  Latin  hymns  that  have  wafted  martyr 
souls  to  glory,  and  they  whose  songs  are  now  the  joy  of  the 
Church  in  the  Wilderness,  must  be  glad  even  in  the  gladness 
of  heaven  that  God  gave  them  words  which  they  strung  on 
the  lyres  of  Christendom,  to  ring  in  the  churches  of  Christ 
from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun.  Ray  Palmer  says  of  his 
hymn, 

"  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee," 

that  he  "  cannot  doubt  it  came  from  the  inspiration  of  the 
Spirit  of  God."  From  Him  all  holy  desires  come.  And  as 
this  precious  poem  is  a  holy  desire,  an  expression  of  faith 
and  love  and  hope,  it  may  claim  with  great  force  its  origin  in 
the  fountain  of  all  that  is  pure  and  good.  With  that  poem 
of  less  than  thirty  lines  his  name  is  linked  as  Wolfe's  name 
is  with  "  Not  a  drum  was  heard,"  and  other  names, — "  the  few 
the  immortal  names  that  were  not  born  to  die."  I  sat  down 
more  than  a  score  of  years  ago,  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  church, 
and  opened  the  hymn  book  to  this  hymn,  marked  as  by 
an  author  unknown.  I  knew  him  well,  and  loved  to  read  in 
a  strange  land  a  song  of  Zion  by  one  who,  in  my  own,  was  a 
brother  and  friend.  And  as  I  journeyed  Eastward,  and  in 
other  tongues  than  ours  heard  hymns  to  Jesus,  this  was 
always  one  of  them,  everywhere  recognized  as  the  one  on 
which  the  soul  calmly  rests  in  sight  of  the  Lamb  of  God,  who 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world.  Even  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Seraglio  Palace,  in  the  city  of  the  Sultan,  I  found  them 
turning  the  words  of  this  and  other  hymns  into  what  seemed 
a  jargon  to  me ;  but  when  youthful  voices  uttered  them  to 
the  tune  of  Olivet,  I  felt  their  power,  and  saw  that  in  all 
places  and  in  all  tongues  the  love  of  Christ  is  the  same,  and 
delights  in  its  utterance  by  the  same  signs. 

And  there  are  other  poems  in  the  volume  now  in  our 
hands,  with  more  poetic  life  in  them  than  this,  and  that  will  as 
certainly  retain  life  as  long.  They  will  not  touch  so  many 
hearts,  and  therefore  never  will  be  so  popular  in  the  best 
sense  of  that  word.  I  have  put  the  author's  name  with  that 
of  Cowper  at  the  head  of  this  column,  because  the  larger 


140  IREN&US  LETTERS, 

poem  of  Dr.  Palmer,  "  Home,  or  the  Unlost  Paradise,"  and 
some  of  the  shorter  poems  treat  of  those  themes  in  domestic 
and  social  life  which  employed  the  fine  powers  of  the  friend 
of  Mrs.  Unwin,  Lady  Austen,and  John  Newton.  Dr.  Palmer 
has  all  the  love  of  nature  and  acquaintance  with  its  varied 
charms,  all  the  taste  for  those  delicate  refinements  of  home 
without  which  Cowper  could  not  exist:  and,  then,  unlike 
Cowper,  Dr.  Palmer  never  sinks  into  the  melancholy  mood : 
never  dwells  on  the  dark  side  of  things :  never  thinks  of  "  a 
frowning  Providence"  with  a  smiling  face  behind.  Dr.  Pal 
mer  is  ever  in  the  light :  rejoices  in  the  Lord  always.  The 
lark  in  the  morning  is  not  more  joyous  than  the  "  rising  soul  " 
of  the  poet  who  lives  in  the  light  of  faith  divine.  Even  in 
singing  of  one  whom  fear  has  called  "  the  king  of  terrors," 
Dr.  Palmer,  with  that  firmness  of  a  Christian  hero,  writes: 

To  Faith's  keen  eye 

Thou,  Death,  art  light ;  'tis  but  to  sense 
That  thine  are  dead  ! 

And  in  the  strong  confidence  of  that  gospel  which  brings 
life  and  immortality  to  light,  he  says : 

"  From  yon  blest  shores, 
When  souls  redeemed  shall  backward  turn, 

To  look  on  thee, 
All  beautiful  thy  form  shall  be  : 
Thy  ministers  once  deemed  so  stern, 
Shall  seem  sweet  ministers  of  grace, 

That  Heaven  adores !" 

That  is  poetry.  It  converts  death  into  an  angel  of  blessing 
to  them  that  have  overcome,  and  scatters  the  gloom  of  dying 
and  the  grave  by  the  power  of  the  glory  that  is  to  be  revealed. 
Such  poets  are  among  God's  best  gifts  to  men.  Well  may 
they  be  called  bards,  and  prophets  and  seers.  They  make 
(poieo,  poema)  wings  for  souls.  They  are  not  many.  Poets 
do  not  come  in  troops.  Happy  is  the  age  that  bears  a  pair 
of  them.  The  race  will  not  die  out.  Heaven  sends  them 
when  they  are  needed.  And  so  in  successive  ages  the  Church 


THE  NAME  ABOVE  EVERY  NAME.  141 

finds  among  her  sons  and  daughters  those  who  set  her  wants 
to  the  harmonies  of  numbers,  and,  as  music  is  the  universal 
language  of  the  soul,  it  comes  that  the  saints  of  all  tongues 
unite  with  one  heart  and  voice  in  such  songs  as  those  of 
Dr.  Palmer. 


THE  NAME  ABOVE  EVERY  NAME. 

It  is  quite  likely  that  I  shall  offend  some  very  good  people 
by  this  letter.  Certainly  some  very  good  people  have  offended 
me  by  the  use  they  make  of  the  name  that  is  above  every 
name.  And  it  is  of  this  use  and  abuse  that  I  have  a  word  or 
two  to  say,  and  with  all  gentleness  and  diffidence ;  for  they 
who  are  to  be  criticised  are  far  better  people  than  he  who 
ventures  the  criticism. 

Full  well  do  I  know  that  the  precious  name  of  JESUS  is  the 
human  name  of  the  blessed  Saviour,  and  when  written  in 
another  form,  as  Joshua,  it  has  none  of  those  associations 
that  render  it  so  sacred  to  all  who  love  Him. 

I  will  first  tell  you  what  has  impelled  me  to  this  present 
writing,  and  then  we  will  talk  the  matter  over.  In  a  large 
religious  meeting,  where  a  high  degree  of  spiritual  life  was 
apparent,  a  revival  meeting,  it  might  be  called, — so  warm, 
earnest,  and  impassioned  were  the  appeals  and  exhortations, 
— there  were  some  speakers  who,  having  had  large  experi 
ence  in  Sunday-school  work  and  young  men's  meetings,  were 
very  fluent  and  eloquent,  rousing  the  feelings  of  the  assem 
blies  by  their  glowing  addresses.  With  them  the  only  name 
by  which  the  Saviour  of  sinners  was  spoken  of  was  JESUS  ; 
and  this  would  not  be  the  occasion  of  any  criticism,  if  they 
had  not  employed  it  with  such  familiarity  and  frequency,  and 
with  the  prefix  of  such  terms  of  endearment,  as  to  take  from 
the  name  that  association  of  reverence  and  respectful  affec 
tion  with  which  it  is  always  invested  in  my  mind  and  that  of 
many  who  have  expressed  to  me  their  sentiments  OP  this 
subject.  It  is  not  in  good  taste  for  a  husband  and  wile,  o» 


142  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

parents  and  children,  or  brothers  and  sisters,  to  lavish,  with 
great  profusion,  very  strong  terms  of  endearment  upon  one 
another,  in  the  presence  of  company.  The  practice  suggests 
to  the  hearer  the  possibility  that  such  warm  expressions  are 
for  the  purpose  of  misleading  those  who  hear,  and  that  it  is 
within  the  realms  of  belief  that  those  who  seem  to  be  so 
extravagantly  affectionate  in  public,  may  be  just  a  little  less 
so  in  the  seclusion  of  domestic  life.  And  when  these  burn 
ing  and  effective  speakers  were,  in  nearly  every  sentence, 
speaking  of  dear  Jesus,  sweet  Jesus,  precious  Jesus,  the  dear 
little  Jesus,  darling  Jesus,  brother  Jesus,  friend  Jesus,  and 
stiil  more  frequently  "Jesus;"  as  if  he  were  no  more  than  one 
of  their  own  number,  one  to  be  spoken  to  and  spoken  of  as  a 
child,  companion,  and  every-day  person,  I  was  asking,  "  Do 
they  love  Him  so  much  more  than  others  ?"  It  hurt  me,  as 
if  one  dearer  to  me  than  life  was  being  lightly  handled  in  the 
face  of  the  world. 

I  remembered  that  a  writer,  whom  the  Spirit  of  God  had 
taught,  declared  of  this  Saviour  that  God  had  "  highly  exalted 
Him,"  and  "given  him  a  name  that  is  above  every  name, 
that,  at  the  name  of  JESUS,  every  knee  should  bow,  in 
heaven,  earth,  and  under  the  earth !"  Such  a  triumphant 
prophecy,  for  the  fulfilment  of  which  the  martyrs  and  pro 
phets  and  faithful  men  and  women  have  looked,  and  will 
yet  anticipate  with  longings  that  no  words  can  clothe,  I 
would  not  construe  into  a  precept  to  forbid  the  use  of  that 
great  name  except  with  an  outward  sign  of  reverence.  Such 
genuflexions  are  often  superstitious  and  never  necessary  to 
testify  respect.  But  the  reverence  in  which  that  name  is 
held,  and  every  name  by  which  God  maketh  himself  known, 
by  all  who  have  a  becoming  sense  of  the  infinite  exaltation 
of  Him  above  us,  forbids  that  his  name  should  be  spoken 
familiarly,  or  with  such  frequency  and  levity  as  to  make  us 
forget  that  we  are  unworthy  to  take  it  upon  our  lips. 

Especially  is  this  familiar  style  of  speaking  to  be  regretted 
when  it  is  indulged,  as  it  is  more  than  elsewhere,  in  the 
presence  of  very  young  persons.  It  abounds  in  Sunday- 
school  eloquence.  It  is  the  staple  of  thousands  of  speeches 


THE  NAME  ABOVE  EVERY  NAME.  143 

to  children.  It  is  not  unknown  when  the  little  hearers  are 
expected  to  laugh  at  the  funny  anecdotes  of  the  entertaining 
speaker.  It  does  not  bring  the  Saviour  nearer  to  them  : 
it  does  tend  to  diminish  their  reverence  for  him,  and  thus  to 
weaken  the  hold  upon  them  of  his  commands. 

If  you  reply  to  these  words  that  it  is  the  htiman  name  only 
of  Christ  that  is  thus  employed,  I  would  remind  you  that 
they  who  think  of  Christ  only  as  a  man,  do  not,  in  their 
writings  or  addresses,  indulge  in  such  familiarity.  Their 
cultivated  taste  perhaps  forbids  it.  But  if  good  taste  is 
offended  thereby,  there  must  be,  in  the  nature  of  the  case, 
something  radically  wrong  in  it. 

Poetry,  passion,  exalted  sentiment,  will  justify  the  use  of 
terms,  occasionally,  that  cease  to  be  allowed  in  the  ordinary 
duties  and  enjoyments  of  religions  service.  The  poetical 
language  of  some  portions  of  Holy  Scripture  may  never  be 
properly  used  except  in  its  connections,  that  the  true  import 
may  be  understood.  Hymns  in  praise  of  JESUS  are  among 
the  most  precious  of  human  writings  : 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul," 

is  as  fervid  as  the  Song  of  Songs. 

"  How  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds 

In  a  believer's  ear ; 

It  soothes  his  sorrows,  heals  his  wounds, 
And  drives  away  his  fear." 

"Jesus,  I  love  thy  charming  name, 

'Tis  music  to  my  ear, 
Fain  would  I  shout  It  out  so  loud 

That  earth  and  heaven  should  hear." 

' '  Jesus,  the  name  that  calms  our  fears, 

That  bids  our  sorrows  cease  ; 
'Tis  music  in  the  sinner's  ears, 

'Tis  life  and  health  and  peace." 

Such  stanzas  are  dear  to  every  Christian  heart  that  delights 
in  sacred  song.  And  the  hymns  of  the  Church  are  more 
abundant  in  praise  of  JESUS  than  on  any  other  theme.  They 


144  1RENALUS  LETTERS. 

are  criticised  by  the  cold  and  uninitiated  as  sensuous,  mate 
rialistic  and  voluptuous.  Fanaticism  finds  in  our  best  hymns 
lines  to  express  unsanctified  emotions.  But  it  finds  them 
just  as  easily  in  the  inspired  songs  of  the  Bible.  We  sing, 

' '  Millions  of  years  my  wondering  eyes 
Shall  o'er  thy  beauties  rove," 

and  only  a  very  sensual  person  can  find  anything  sensual  in 
the  words.  We  sing  joyously  such  lines  as  these : 

' '  Sweet  Jesus,  every  smile  of  thine 
Shall  fresh  endearment  bring ; 
And  thousand  tastes  of  new  delight 
From  all  thy  graces  spring. 

"  Haste,  my  Beloved,  fetch  my  soul 

Up  to  thy  blest  abode  ; 
Fly,  for  my  spirit  longs  to  see 
My  Saviour  and  my  God." 

Such  is  the  language  of  poetry,  of  highly  wrought  imagina 
tion,  taking  the  wings  of  music,  and  soaring  into  the  spiritual, 
the  unseen  and  eternal.  It  is  susceptible  of  abuse,  and  it  is 
not  strange  that  they  who  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  be 
in  union  with  Christ  should  wrest,  as  they  do  many  other 
words,  to  a  use  which  they  were  not  made  to  answer.  And 
the  name  of  Jesus,  and  all  the  names  by  which  the  Father, 
the  Son,  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  the  attributes  of  God,  and  the 
offices  which  he  executes,  are  made  known  to  men,  should 
be  used  with  reverence  on  all  occasions. 

Profane  speaking  is  not  unheard  in  the  pulpit.  The  plat 
form  has  more  of  it.  The  Sunday-school  hears  the  most  of 
it.  Oh  that  we  might  hear  the  last  of  it ! 


A    WEEK  IN   THE    WHITE  HOUSE.  145 


A  WEEK  IN  THE  WHITE  HOUSE. 

Mr.  Franklin  Pierce  was  nominated  for  the  Presidency  of 
the  United  States  in  the  summer  of  1852,  and  was  elected  in 
November.  Between  the  time  of  his  nomination  and  elec 
tion  a  bright,  beautiful  and  promising  son,  his  only  child, 
was  killed  by  a  railroad  accident.  Mrs.  Pierce,  a  lady  of 
great  loveliness  of  character,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Appleton,  President  of  Bowdoin  College,  was  crushed  by 
this  blow,  and  the  bereaved  parents,  childless  and  heart 
broken,  went  to  Washington.  In  the  freshness  of  their  grief 
they  saw  no  company.  They  went  to  the  church  of  which 
the  late  Rev.  Dr.  John  C.  Smith  was  pastor,  and  at  the  close 
of  service  he  spoke  with  them.  I  had  recently  published 
"Thoughts  on  the  Death  of  Children,"  and  Mrs.  Pierce 
remarked  to  him  that  she  had  been  reading  the  book  with 
much  comfort. 

In  the  course  of  that  week  I  was  in  Washington  making 
some  arrangements  for  a  foreign  journey,  and  Dr.  Smith 
spoke  to  me  of  Mrs.  Pierce  having  derived  comfort  from  my 
little  book,  and  he  asked  me  to  call  on  them,  though  as  yet. 
they  had  received  no  one.  I  did  so :  Mrs.  Pierce  received 
me  at  once,  and  sent  for  the  President,  who  joined  us.  The 
sympathies  of  parents  in  a  common  affliction  soon  united 
our  hearts.  The  interview  was  sacred. 

I  went  to  Europe  and  the  East,  and  was  absent  a  year. 
Mr.  Pierce  had  been  in  office  about  three  years  when  I  was 
in  Washington  again.  After  being  there  two  or  three  days  I 
called  on  the  President,  and  he  insisted  on  sending  to  the 
hotel  for  my  luggage,  and  my  spending  a  week  with  him. 
Mrs.  Pierce  joined  in  the  invitation  with  arguments  that 
made  it  impossible  to  refuse,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  I 
was  in  my  room  in  the  White  House. 

As  my  visit  was  purely  social,  having  no  reference  to 
political  or  public  matters,  it  would  be  inconsistent  with  the 
whole  tenor  of  my  correspondence  to  speak  of  much  that 


146  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

made  that  week  one  of  the  most  memorable  and  remarkable 
of  my  life.  And  political  prejudices  are  so  strong  that  we 
are  apt  to  judge  the  private  character  of  public  men,  espe 
cially  Presidents,  by  our  likes  or  dislikes  of  their  party  rela 
tions.  This  was  stiikingly  illustrated  by  a  fact  resulting 
from  my  visit.  In  a  letter  from  Washington  I  mentioned 
that  the  President  prayed  daily  with  his  family,  assembling 
the  servants  in  the  library  for  that  purpose.  One  of  the  sub 
scribers  to  the  Observer  ordered  it  discontinued,  giving  as 
the  reason  that  he  "would  not  have  a  paper  coming  into  his 
house  that  says  Pierce  prays."  In  my  simplicity  I  had  sup 
posed  any  Christian  would  be  glad  to  hear  that  his  worst 
enemy  was  praying,  but  I  was  mistaken  in  that  opinion. 

Mr.  Pierce  did  not  lead  the  devotions  in  family  worship 
while  I  was  there,  insisting  that  it  was  my  duty  as  a  clergy 
man.  Mrs.  Pierce  told  me  that  he  always  conducted  it  when 
a  minister  was  not  present,  and  that  no  public  engagements 
were  allowed  to  interfere  with  the  daily  family  service.  He 
called  upon  me  invariably  to  ask  the  blessing  at  table,  but 
one  day,  as  we  sat  down,  he  involuntarily  did  it  himself,  and 
then  turning  to  me,  said  :  "  Excuse  me,  but  for  the  moment 
I  forgot."  It  showed  his  habit. 

Every  day,  except  Sunday,  he  had  a  dinner  party,  usually 
from  eight  to  ten  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  this  brought 
together  the  most  distinguished  members  of  Congress,  stran 
gers  visiting  the  Capital,  and  officers  of  the  Cabinet.  Half  a 
dozen  wine-glasses  were  placed  at  each  plate,  and  as  many 
kinds  of  wine  were  freely  served :  but  at  the  President's  plate 
was  no  wine-glass,  and  he  drank  nothing  but  water.  In  the 
early  part  of  his  public  life  he  was  addicted  to  the  free  use  of 
intoxicating  liquors,  but  he  had  put  himself  upon  rigorous 
abstinence,  even  from  wine  at  his  own  table. 

Once  a  week  he  excused  himself  from  whatever  company 
might  be  present  in  the  evening,  while  he  went  unobserved 
to  a  prayer  meeting  in  the  lecture-room  of  the  church.  He 
sat  in  a  back  seat,  unnoticed  by  any  one  but  the  pastor,  who 
said  nothing  about  it  to  his  people,  though  he  mentioned  it 
to  me  in  speaking  of  the  President's  private  life. 


A    WEEK  IN   THE  WHITE  HOUSE.  147 

One  morning  Mr.  Pierce  asked  me  to  step  with  him  into 
his  bed-chamber.  The  bed  was  standing  a  few  feet  from  the 
wall.  We  sat  down  on  its  side,  and  he  drew  a  curtain  from 
a  portrait  hung  low,  and  near  the  head  of  the  bed.  It  told 
its  own  sad  story  of  his  beautiful  boy,  his  son,  his  only  son, 
who  was  killed  as  they  were  coming  into  this  mansion.  He 
put  his  hand  into  mine  and  wept.  Who  could  refrain  from 
weeping  with  him  ?  "  It  is  dark,  desolate,  dreadful ;  we 
thought  it  would  be  for  his  pleasure  ;  that  his  future  would 
be  so  much  brighter  :  but  my  wife  and  I  are  longing  now  to 
go  away  and  be  at  peace."  I  had  no  words.  We  sat  some 
moments  in  silence  and  withdrew. 

At  breakfast  one  morning  Mr.  Pierce  said  to  me :  "  I 
would  like  to  have  you  see  my  Cabinet  together,  and  if  you 
will  be  at  home  at  one  o'clock  I  will  call  for  you  at  your 
room."  At  the  hour  he  called,  and  led  me  to  the  apartment 
where  the  members  had  been  in  session,  and  were  now 
through  with  business.  After  introduction  I  had  a  few 
words  with  each  of  them,  except  one:  he  resumed  his  seat 
and  his  writing,  and  yet  I  remember  him  quite  as  distinctly 
as  any  of  them,  for  he  has  since  been  very  distinguished  as 
Jefferson  Davis,  President  of  the  Southern  Confederacy, 

William  L.  Marcy  was  then  Secretary  of  State,  and  had 
been  also  at  the  head  of  the  War  Department  in  a  previous 
administration.     Governor  Marcy,  wishing  to  make  a  moral 
reflection,  observed ; 

"  Is  it  not  strange,  sir,  that  men  are  willing  to  come  here 
and  bear  these  burdens,  and  for  what  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  I  replied  ;  "not  strange,  Governor,  some  gentle 
men  are  willing  to  come  twice !" 

He  laughed  heartily,  and  said,  "  Ah,  there  you  have  me," 
for  he  was  one  of  them. 

James  Guthrie  of  Kentucky,  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
was  a  man  of  commanding  appearance.  Mr.  Dobbin,  Secre 
tary  of  the  Navy,  from  North  Carolina,  was  then  in  delicate 
health,  and  did  not  live  long  after  retirement  from  office. 
Robert  McClelland,  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  has  just  now 
died  in  Michigan.  Mr.  James  Campbell  was  Postmaster- 


148  I  REN Ai.  US  LETTERS. 

General,  a  Roman  Catholic,  who  alluded  to  that  fact  himself 
when  saying  some  pleasant  words  to  me.  Caleb  Gushing 
was  Attorney-General,  a  man  of  such  varied  accomplish 
ments,  industry,  versatility,  and  capacity  for  public  affairs, 
that  he  was  for  many  years,  under  successive  administra 
tions,  indispensable,  whether  in  or  out  of  office. 

A  few  years  after  this,  Mr.  Marcy  was  residing  at  the 
Hotel  Sans  Souci  in  Ballston  Spa,  in  the  summer,  and  my 
family  were  guests  in  the  same  house.  The  alarm  was  given 
that  Mr.  Marcy  was  dead !  He  had  just  come  in  from  a 
walk,  and  lying  down  upon  the  bed,  expired.  The  room  was 
soon  filled  with  the  boarders ;  a  physician  was  summoned : 
he  searched  for  signs  of  life,  and  asked  one  of  the  ladies  of 
my  family  to  place  her  hand  over  his  heart,  as  her  more 
delicate  touch  might  detect  its  throb.  All  was  still.  His 
eyes  were  wide  open,  and  she  closed  them. 

In  the  course  of  the  week  Mrs.  Pierce  was  to  hold  a  levee, 
and  she  was  so  kind  as  to  request  me  to  assist  in  the  recep 
tion.  A  few  minutes  before  12  M.,  the  appointed  hour,  the 
President  called  for  me,  and  we  went  into  the  East  Room 
awaiting  Mrs.  Pierce,  and  the  opening  of  the  doors  for  com 
pany.  We  walked  up  and  down  the  long  apartment  in 
silence  :  his  thoughts  I  do  not  know  ;  but  mine  were  such  as 
these — "  What  a  sublime  position  does  this  man  hold :  the 
chosen  Chief  Magistrate  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  nations 
on  the  earth ;  in  a  few  moments  the  doors  will  open,  and 
ambassadors  from  distant  kingdoms,  senators,  scholars,  'fair 
women  and  brave  men '  will  enter,  pay  their  respects  and 
retire."  As  such  reflections  were  in  my  mind,  he  laid  his 
hand  on  my  shoulder  and,  as  if  he  divined  my  thoughts, 
remarked :  "  After  all,  a  man  who  can  preach  the  gospel, 
and  win  men  to  Christ,  holds  the  highest  office  on  earth." 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  in  position,  receiving  the  distin 
guished  company.  The  day  was  brilliant,  the  dresses  were 
elegant  mooting  costumes,  the  company  included  represen 
tatives  of  many  courts  and  peoples.  Mr.  Pierce  was  a  gen 
tleman  of  graceful  manners,  and  Mrs.  Pierce,  very  delicate 
in  health,  was  an  accomplished  woman  of  the  highest  per- 


A    WEEK  IN   THE   WHITE  HOUSE.  149 

sonal  worth.  Sad,  almost  melancholy,  she  shrank  from  such 
a  scene,  in  which  duty  held  her,  but  she  would  be  equal  to 
her  position. 

Two  lads  were  presented,  strangers  and  unattended.  She 
greeted  them  kindly,  almost  tenderly,  and  as  they  turned 
away  she  looked  at  me  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  said  softly, 
"  Ah,  those  boys,  those  dear  boys."  And  there  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  splendor  of  that  scene,  with  fashion,  pride  and 
state  around  her,  the  vision  of  her  boy,  her  lost  boy,  her 
only  child,  had  entered  the  hall,  and  her  poor  heart  died 
within  her  as  she  thought  of  him  and  her  buried  love.  She 
trembled  as  with  an  ague,  and,  at  my  suggestion,  sat  down 
until  she  regained  composure. 

During  the  week  that  I  passed  in  the  President's  house,  I 
heard  less  of  party  and  politics  than  would  be  heard  in  a 
day  outside.  At  table,  when  leading  statesmen  were  present, 
with  conflicting  views  of  public  questions,  it  was  proper  to 
avoid  such  topics  as  would  provoke  discussion,.  The  con 
versation  was,  for  the  most  part,  on  live  subjects  in  litera 
ture,  art,  philosophy,  and  the  progress  of  the  age.  Ex- 
Senator  N.  P.  Tallmadge,  of  Dutchess  County,  who  became 
a  Spiritualist,  had  recently  put  forth  a  volume  of  revelations 
from  statesmen  and  others  in  the  spirit-world.  After  dinner, 
extracts  were  read  by  these  living  statesmen  from  the  utter 
ances  of  Madison,  Calhoun  and  others,  and  the  general 
impression  was  that  they  had  amazingly  degenerated  in 
intellectual  force  by  their  change  of  state.  Even  Mr.  Tall 
madge,  it  was  remarked,  must  have  softened,  or  he  could  not 
have  edited  such  twaddle  and  thought  it  sense. 

The  Sabbath  at  the  White  House  was  wholly  devoted  to 
such  pursuits  as  would  mark  a  Christian  home  in  New  Eng 
land.  No  company  was  received.  We  went  to  church  twice. 
The  reading  and  conversation  were  in  keeping  with  the  day. 
In  the  evening  I  had  a  long  conversation  with  Mrs.  Pierce 
on  the  subject  always  uppermost  in  her  mind  :  the  boy  that 
died.  She  told  me — but  I  cannot  feel  it  to  be  proper  to 
write  the  words  of  a  fond  mother,  whose  life  was  blighted  in 
the  hour  of  her  brightest  hope. 


150  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pierce  have  been  dead  several  years.  King 
David  said,  when  his  boy  died,  "  I  shall  go  to  him."  They 
have  found  their  boy. 


L'ESSON   FROM   A  SICK-ROOM. 

"  Since  Christ  and  we  are  one, 

Why  should  we  doubt  or  fear  ? 
Since  he  in  heaven  has  fixed  his  throne, 
He'll  fix  his  members  there." 

Hearing  that  a  friend  of  mine,  a  brother  minister,  whom  I 
had  long  known  and  highly  esteemed,  was  very  ill,  I  made 
haste  to  go  and  see  him.  He  had  been  suddenly  attacked 
with  pneumonia,  a  form  of  disease  which  has  carried  off  so 
many  of  our  friends  this  winter,  and  is  one  of  the  most  dread 
ful  scourges  in  our  trying  climate.  But  the  crisis  was  past 
before  I  came,  and  he  was  evidently  on  the  mend. 

"  I  was  almost  over  the  river,"  he  said,  as  I  took  his  hand ; 
"  1  thought  I  was  crossing  at  one  time,  but  it  was  not  His  will, 
and  1  am  here  yet :  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  once  more." 

1  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and  he  looked  me  full  in  the 
face,  with  a  sweet,  loving  smile,  and  then,  to  my  surprise  and 
delight,  he  said : 

"  That  letter  of  yours  about  manners  in  church :  putting 
on  their  coats  during  the  Doxology  :  how  I  did  enjoy  it !" 

It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  know  that,  in  the  sick-room,  on  a 
bed  of  pain  and  perhaps  of  death,  though  apprehension  of 
that  event  was  now  over,  the  words  that  I  had  written,  with 
no  thought  of  their  being  read  with  such  surroundings,  had 
ministered,  not  for  a  moment  only  but  for  after  thoughts,  to 
one  in  trouble,  and  had  given  him  something  to  think  of  and 
enjoy.  And  then  I  talked  with  him  of  his  life-work  and 
mine :  how  the  shadows  were  lengthening  as  the  sun  was 
going  down  ;  and  what  we  had  tried  to  do  for  God  and  our  fel 
low-men  ;  how  we  had  often  been  misunderstood  and  oftener 
misrepresented,  but  the  Master  knew  it  all,  and  in  the  stormi- 


LESSON  FROM  A    SICK-ROOM.  151 

est  weather  whispered  to  the  soul,  "  It  is  I,  be  not  afraid." 
And  I  learned  much  from  the  few  sentences  he  spoke  to  me 
of  his  confidence  in  God  when  the  end  seemed  to  be  at  hand, 
and  he  thought  death  was  at  the  door : 

"  Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling." 

Years  of  service  in  one  of  the  most  self-denying  of  all  the 
departments  of  Christian  labor,  though  much  in  my  sight, 
were  nothing  in  his  when  he  looked  back  on  his  work.  He 
was  ready  to  say,  "  When  did  I  see  Thee  sick  or  in  prison 
and  came  unto  Thee  ?"  It  was  less  than  nothing  when  the 
light  of  eternity  came  in  through  the  chinks  of  the  falling 
tabernacle !  "  Not  what  I  have  done,"  he  might  have  said, 
"it  is  what  Christ  has  done,  and  that  alone :  He  saw  me  sick 
and  he  came  and  healed  me :  He  saw  me  in  prison  and 
opened  the  door  and  brought  me  forth  redeemed  by  his 
blood  :  He  saw  me  naked  and  clothed  me  with  his  righteous 
ness  :  starving,  and  he  fed  me  with  the  bread  of  Life  Ever 
lasting." 

Then  we  went  to  this  precious  Saviour  with  our  wants,  and 
told  him  all  we  would,  thanked  him  for  the  unspeakable 
gift  of  himself,  and  made  a  new  dedication  of  ourselves  to 
him,  whether  for  death  or  for  life ;  for,  living  or  dying,  we 
would  be  the  Lord's.  To  every  sentence,  every  clause  in 
these  prayers,  the  sick  man  responded  with  fervent  spirit, 
and  pressed  my  hand  in  his,  so  that  I  knew  his  soul  was  in 
sympathy  with  mine,  while  we  had  communion  with  our 
common  Saviour  and  Lord. 

"  The  fellowship  of  kindred  minds 
Is  like  to  that  above." 

I  have  just  come  from  this  chamber  of  sickness,  this  holy 
communion  with  one  of  the  saints,  and  I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  mention  the  one  thing  that  ought  to  be  known  to  under 
stand  the  fulness  of  the  pleasure  which  this  hour  has  given 
me.  He  is  not  of  the  same  religious  denomination  with  me. 
Is  it  not  a  very  small  thing  to  say  ?  And  is  it  not  a  shame 


152  IRENsKUS  LETTERS. 

that  I  should  write  it,  as  having  the  least  possible  bearing 
upon  the  subject  of  Christian  intercourse  ?  He  and  I  are  not 
of  the  same  sect  or  sect-ion  of  the  Church  of  Christ :  that  is 
all:  we  are  both  believers  in  Him,  and  therefore  members  of 
Him,  and  so  members  one  of  another.  When  he  lies  on  a  bed 
of  pain,  I  suffer  with  him  and  want  to  take  a  part  of  his  suf 
ferings,  and  yet,  because  we  are  not  called  by  the  same  Chris 
tian  name,  it  is  thought  by  many  that  we  are  not  in  full  sym 
pathy  and  intercommunion  of  soul. 

Four  of  us  were  at  dinner  this  afternoon.  The  golden 
oranges  were  very  large  ;  I  divided  one  into  four  parts,  each 
of  us  took  a  sect  of  it,  and  ate.  It  was  the  same  orange  of 
which  we  partook:  it  was  equally  sweet  and  refreshing  and 
healthful  to  us  all :  and  every  one  said,  "  What  an  exquisite 
orange  this  is ;"  not  "  My  orange  is  better  than  yours ;"  not 
"Yours  is  no  orange,  mine  is  the  only  one  that  is  good  ;"  not 
"  Yours  is  only  a  sect,  a  part  cut  off,  mine  is  the  original 
fruit."  No,  there  was  no  such  nonsense  at  the  table.  We  all 
partook  of  the  root  and  fatness  of  the  orange-tree,  and  knew  in 
our  own  souls  that  it  was  the  same  fruit,  as  good  for  one  as  for 
another,  and  equally  sweet  to  the  taste.  And  as  we  were 
eating,  I  was  saying  to  myself,  that  dear  good  brother  whom 
I  was  holding  by  the  hand  an  hour  ago,  while  both  of  us  put 
ours  into  the  hands  of  the  same  atoning  and  only  Saviour,  is 
surely  as  near  to  me  as  if  he  were  called  by  the  same  family 
name.  And  this  was  the  lesson  that  I  brought  away  from 
the  sick-room  of  my  friend  and  brother.  It  is  good  for  the 
whole  Christian  Church.  It  is  Christianity  itself.  Sad, 
indeed,  that  we  must  teach  it  as  an  elementary  truth  at  this 
late  day  in  the  history  of  Christ's  Kingdom.  And  sadder  still 
it  is  that  so  many  who  profess  and  call  themselves  Christians 
are  unable  or  unwilling  to  see  that  there  is  just  as  much  of 
Christ  in  another  sect  of  the  Church  as  in  the  section  to  which 
they  belong,  and  that  all  are  Christ's  who  have  been  made 
partakers  with  him  of  "the  divine  nature."  There  is  noth 
ing  in  this  that  requires  or  implies  a  loss  of  attachment  to 
our  own  creeds  or  forms.  They  have  their  uses,  and  the 
older  we  grow,  and  the  more  we  learn,  the  stronger  becomes 


THE   GREAT  EXAGGERATOR.  153 

every  honest  man's  attachment  to  the  doctrines  and  the 
methods  which  he  has  intelligently  adopted  and  professed. 
Latitudinarianism  and  Liberalism  are  the  pet  names  by  which 
weak  and  ignorant  and  often  bad  men  would  conceal  their 
hatred  of  the  good  and  true.  The  holiest  of  all  things  is  the 
right  thing,  and  he  who  thinks  he  has  the  right  will  stick  to 
it.  But  charity  is  kind.  It  endureth  all  things.  It  is  love. 
And  whoever  has  his  heart  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  Master 
is  my  brother ;  if  he  is  ever  so  far  away  from  me  in  his  ways 
of  worship,  he  is  my  brother,  and  has  a  place  in  my  heart's 
best  love. 

All  this  I  have  written  you,  as  the  lesson  learned  at  the 
bedside  of  my  brother  minister  this  afternoon,  and  having 
put  it  upon  paper,  I  will  say  Good-night. 


THE  GREAT  EXAGGERATOR. 

Riding  up  in  a  street-car,  I  was  by  the  side  of  a  young  man 
who  had  several  copies  of  a  well-known  weekly  newspaper 
in  his  hand.  He  made  conversation  with  me  very  freely 
and  was  disposed  to  be  communicative.  In  response  to  my 
observation  that  he  had  a  large  supply  of  newspaper,  he 
said  that  he  was  on  this  paper,  handing  me  one  of  the  lot. 
And  when  I  showed  some  curiosity  to  know  what  depart 
ment  of  the  journal  he  filled,  he  said,  "  It  might,  perhaps,  be 
called  the  exaggeration  department.  I  write  an  article  every 
week  which  is  to  be  a  wonderful  story,  a  narrative  of  remark 
able  facts,  not  necessarily  real,  or  true,  but  things  that  might 
possibly  be  true,  and  so  will  entertain  the  reader  and  aston 
ish  him  some." 

I  was  amused  by  the  coolness  with  which  he  detailed  his 
business,  and  asked  him  if  there  was  anything  of  his  in  that 
line  in  the  paper  he  had  given  me. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  been  writing  this  week  on 
the  rats  of  Brazil :  here  it  is." 

Here  he  opened  the  paper  and  called  my  attention  to  the 


154  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

part  of  it  which  he  fills  with  his  imagination  and  invention. 
It  described  with  great  minuteness  the  immense  numbers 
and  size  of  the  rats  in  Brazil — they  grow  as  big  as  dogs,  are 
very  fierce,  attacking  children  often,  and  are  the  dread  of 
animals  t\vice  their  size.  Illustrations  were  given  of  their 
ferocity  and  great  strength,  and  the  measures  adopted  to 
reduce  their  numbers,  if  they  could  not  be  exterminated. 
When  I  asked  him  what  was  the  source  of  his  information, 
he  said  frankly  he  knew  nothing  about  it,  but  had  made  it 
up,  knowing  very  well  it  would  be  interesting  to  read,  and 
yet  nobody  would  care  enough  about  it  to  inquire  into  its 
truth  and  detect  the  exaggeration. 

"  I  am  now  writing,"  he  continued,  "  another  paper  on 
1  the  Cockroaches  of  Japan.'  Do  you  know  whether  there 
are  any  in  that  curious  country?" 

My  studies  in  natural  history  had  not  been  directed  that 
way,  and  I  told  him  frankly  I  did  not  know  that  a  cockroach 
had  ever  landed  on  that  shore,  but  I  had  no  doubt  they  were 
abundant  there  as  here. 

"Well,  it  don't  make  much  difference  whether  there  are 
any  or  not :  as  I  know  their  habits  in  this  country,  I  shall 
give  them  many  that  are  peculiar  to  Japan,  where  the  people 
do  everything  in  just  the  opposite  way  from  ours :  so  I  will 
make  the  cockroach  a  delightful  domestic  animal,  which  the 
ladies  are  fond  of  playing  with  as  a  pet,  &c.,  you  see  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see,  but  do  not  greatly  admire  the  work  you  are 
doing  :  a  man  with  genius  enough  to  invent  such  stuff  is  fit 
for  something  better,  more  elevating  and  useful,  Besides, 
what's  the  difference  between  this  and  lying?" 

"  All  the  difference  in  the  world :  this  is  harmless  and 
amusing:  people  love  to  read  wonderful  stories.  Perhaps 
you  call  DeFoe  a  liar,  and  John  Bunyan,  and  Cervantes,  and 
Walter  Scott,  and  Dickens :  they  are  novelists  :  authors  of 
fiction :  so  am  I  !  All  my  stories  are  fiction,  and,  as  the 
great  authors  I  have  named  did  not  expect  to  be  understood 
as  writing  actual  facts,  I  am  so  much  better  than  they  that 
I  want  to  be  believed,  and  so  I  confine  myself  to  what  might 
be  true  but  is  not." 


THE   GREAT  EXAGGERATOR.  155 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  Fourth  Street,  and  the  great 
exaggerator  was  obliged  to  leave  the  car,  as  his  factory  was 
located  there,  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  But  I  have  since 
seen  and  heard,  and  read,  many  in  the  same  line  of  business, 
whose  habit  of  exaggeration  is  quite  as  large  and  fearful  as 
this  newspaper-man's. 

Some  of  them  are  preachers.  They  cannot  make  a  simple 
statement  of  truth,  in  language  that  everybody  can  under 
stand,  and  in  terms  that  commend  themselves  to  the  hearty 
confidence  of  the  hearer.  But  they  pile  up  the  agony,  with 
all  their  might,  making  terrible  more  terrible,  and  lovely  so 
ineffably  sweet  that  neither  one  nor  the  other  is  credible. 
In  revivalists,  and  travelled  speakers,  and  the  sensational 
men  generally,  I  observe  this  same  habit  in  full  flow.  All 
their  geese  are  swans.  All  their  good  people  are  angels. 
Even  their  reports  of  work  done,  souls  saved,  and  reforma 
tions  accomplished,  are  not  in  strict  accordance  with  the 
facts. 

Sitting  on  a  platform  last  week  at  an  anniversary  meeting, 
while  a  speaker  was  careering  splendidly  along  the  brilliant 
line  of  his  rhetoric,  with  a  pyrotechnic  display  of  facts  and 
figures  glorious  if  true,  and  he  believed  them  so,  a  friend 
near  by  whispered  to  me  : 

"  I  wonder  if  he  wouldn't  discount  that  fifty  per  cent  for 
cash  !" 

My  friend  was  in  the  commercial  line  evidently,  and 
intended  to  ask  me  if  it  would  not  be  safe  to  take  off  fifty 
per  cent,  or  one  half  of  that,  for  the  sake  of  sober  truth — the 
cash. 

Writers  as  well  as  public  speakers  draw  the  long  bow. 
Even  in  the  serious  business  of  delineating  the  character  of 
a  departed  friend,  some  persons  have  been  known  to  indulge 
in  eulogy  justly  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  being  somewhat 
overdrawn. 

Women  are  not  wholly  exempt  from  this  tendency  to 
hyperbole.  As  a  mouse  is  to  them  often  more  terrible  than 
a  lion,  so  they  magnify  trifles  into  mountains  and  hug  their 
delusions  as  positive  realities.  Men  and  women  indulge  in 


156  IRE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

this  habit  of  exaggeration  until  they  come  to  believe  what 
they  say,  and  thus  are  victims  of  their  own  folly  and  sin. 
When  charged  with  misrepresentation,  they  defend  their  bad 
habit  and  resent  the  suspicion  of  falsehood  as  an  insult. 
Even  when  convinced  of  their  fault  they  fall  into  it  in  their 
confession,  and  repeat  themselves,  as  did  the  minister  whose 
brethren  rebuked  him  for  his  habit  of  exaggeration,  and 
filled  with  shame  and  repentance,  he  cried,  "Yes,  brethren, 
I  know  my  fault.  I  have  tried  to  correct  it ;  I  have  shed 
barrels  of  tears  over  it." 

It  is  no  excuse  for  this  or  any  other  bad  habit  to  say  of  the 
offender,  "  It  is  his  way."  No  man  has  a  right  to  continue 
in  a  bad  way.  It  is  his  duty,  when  the  wrong  is  shown  him, 
to  repent  and  reform.  It  is  just  as  wicked  to  be  an  exag- 
gerator  in  the  pulpit,  on  the  platform,  at  the  dinner  table, 
as  in  writing  for  the  sensational  newspaper  on  the  rats  of 
Brazil  or  the  cockroaches  of  Japan. 

Dean  Stanley  intimated,  when  he  was  among  us,  that  the 
authors  of  America  have  the  reputation  abroad  of  being 
given  to  exaggeration.  I  do  not  think  the  habit  is  Ameri 
can.  It  would  be  quite  as  easy  to  find  examples  of  it  in 
British  authors,  and  French  and  German,  for  it  is  a  fault  of 
human  nature  that  it  is  never  content  with  things  as  they 
are,  and  always  is  prone  to  make  molehills  into  mountains. 
"  A  plain,  unvarnished  tale"  is  more  forcible  and  useful  than 
the  inflated  style  which  often  passes  for  eloquence. 

And  so  I  have  been  taught  by  my  companion  in  the  car 
to  despise  the  exaggerator.  When  I  hear  him  in  the  pulpit 
or  out  of  it,  I  ask  myself  if  he  would  not  take  off  fifty  per 
cent  for  cash. 


WHEN  IT  RAINS,    LET  IT  RAIN,  157 

WHEN   IT    RAINS,   LET   IT  RAIN. 

My  father  was  one  of  the  rural  clergy :  a  country  pastor. 
It  was  his  habit  when  he  went  from  home  to  exchange 
pulpits  with  a  distant  brother,  or  to  attend  Synod,  to  take 
with  him  a  few  sermons.  For  them  he  had  a  pasteboard 
case,  into  which  they  would  slide,  and  travel  without  being 
folded.  On  one  side  of  this  case  he  had  written  in  a  bold 
hand  a  Latin  motto,  of  which  I  may  write  to  you  hereafter, 
and  on  the  other  side  these  words  .  "  WHEN  IT  RAINS,  LET 

IT  RAIN." 

Long  before  I  knew  what  they  were  intended  to  teach,  I 
spelled  them  out,  and  wondered  what  difference  it  made 
whether  he  let  it  rain  or  not :  it  was  not  likely  that  it  would 
rain  more  or  less  because  he  had  a  will  about  it.  But  as  I 
grew  older,  and  perhaps  a  little  wiser,  I  began  to  see  the 
meaning  and  the  value  of  the  motto,  and  to  lay  it  up  in  my 
heart  and  to  practise  it  in  my  life.  I  soon  found,  also,  that 
ministers  have  special  need  of  the  virtue  it  teaches  in  the 
matter  of  rainy  Sundays.  They  make  preparation  for  the 
pulpit,  with  much  care,  labor  and  hope.  They  have  a  special 
object  perhaps  in  view,  and  are  very  anxious  to  see  all  their 
people  in  their  places  when  they  come  with  this  message 
from  the  mouth  of  God.  They  rise  on  the  Sabbath  morning, 
and  lo !  the  rain  is  descending,  the  floods  are  coming,  and  it 
is  certain  there  will  be  more  pews  than  people  in  church. 
What  shall  he  do  ?  The  sermon  is  not  for  those  who  will 
turn  out  in  the  rain,  so  much  as  it  is  for  those  who  will  cer 
tainly  stay  at  home.  He  is  tempted  to  fret  at  the  weather. 
The  discontented  missionary  to  Nineveh,  when  there  was 
too  much  sun,  exclaimed,  "  I  do  well  to  be  angry,"  and  the 
country  pastor  is  ready  to  be  angry  because  it  rains. 

Then  comes  up  the  much-argued  question,  "  Shall  I  preach 
my  sermon  prepared  for  to-day,  rain  or  shine,  people  or  no 
people,  or  shall  I  take  an  old  one,  or  preach  an  off-hand  dis 
course  :  on  the  principle  that  anything  will  do  for  a  rainy 
day  ?"  The  wise  pastor  has  no  invariable  rule  on  the  sub 
ject.  Sometimes  he  does  the  one  thing,  and  again  he  does 


158  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

the  other,  according  to  circumstances.  And  those  of  his 
people  who  go  to  church  in  all  weathers  say.,  "  Our  minis 
ter  preaches  his  best  sermons  on  rainy  Sundays."  They  do 
not  know  the  secret  of  it,  which  is  that  they  who  have  the 
heart  to  brave  a  storm,  and  go  to  the  house  of  God,  are  sure 
to  find  its  word  and  ordinances  sweet  to  their  taste,  yea, 
sweeter  than  the  honeycomb.  Like  wine  on  the  lees  well 
refined,  it  rejoices  the  heart. 

When  Dean  Swift's  congregation  was  so  small  as  to  include 
only  the  sexton  and  himself,  he  began  the  service,  instead  of 
"  Dearly  beloved  brethren,  the  Scripture  moveth,"  etc.,  by 
saying,  "  Dearly  beloved  Roger,  the  Scripture,"  etc.  The 
Dean  was  not  a  very  serious  preacher,  and  with  him  this  was 
a  pleasantry.  But  many  a  preacher,  whose  audience  was 
nearly  as  few  as  his,  has  preached  with  power  and  great 
effect,  to  the  glory  of  God.  The  jailer  was  the  only  hearer 
when  the  gospel  made  him  cry  out,  "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 
The  Great  Teacher  himself  was  willing  to  teach  one  at  a 
time.  And  the  minister  who  dismisses  all  thought  about 
numbers,  and  just  goes  onward  preaching  the  Word  to  many 
or  to  few,  trusting  in  God  to  make  it  effectual  to  accomplish 
that  whereunto  it  is  sent,  will,  in  the  end,  do  the  best  work 
for  the  Master. 

My  father  faithfully  acted  upon  this  principle,  and  always 
let  it  rain  without  worrying  himself  about  it.  He  never 
stopped  for  a  storm.  He  said  it  was  no  part  of  his  business 
to  bring  the  people  out  when  it  rained,  but  he  would  do  his 
whole  duty  in  the  pulpit,  and  they  who  heard  and  they  who 
did  not  would  have  their  respective  accounts  to  render. 
This  was  the  quiet  conviction  of  a  strong,  brave  man,  who 
did  not  undertake  to  regulate  the  weather  or  to  manage  the 
affairs  of  the  universe.  He  was  content  to  do  his  duty,  and 
he  just  did  it. 

The  rule  is  as  good  for  the  people  as  it  is  for  the  pastor, 
and  quite  as  good  in  all  the  affairs  of  this  life  of  ours  as  it  is 
on  Sunday.  How  often  even  good  people  say:  "I'm  so 
sorry  it  rains  to-day:  I  would  rather  have  it  rain  all  the 
week  than  on  Sunday."  But  that  rain  which  shuts  them  in 


WHEN  IT  RAINS,  LET  IT  RAIN.  159 

the  house  on  the  Sabbath,  and  deprives  them  of  the  means 
of  grace  in  the  sanctuary,  would  not  hinder  them  from  going 
to  their  daily  business  or  to  a  kettledrum. 

Nor  is  it  the  weather  only  that  worries  the  souls  of  dis 
contented  people.  They  are  never  pleased  with  things  as 
they  are,  and  would  like  to  have  the  ordering  of  events  in 
their  own  hands.  But  if  they  had,  they  would  then  com 
plain  of  having  so  much  to  do,  they  have  no  time  for  rest. 
And  it  js  altogether  likely  if  they  had  the  management  of 
the  weather,  and  everything  else,  they  would  not  have  it  any 
more  to  their  minds  'than  it  is  now  when  Infinite  wisdom 
directs  it  for  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number.  It 
is  a  fact  that  they  who  fret  the  most  about  the  little  troubles 
and  vexations  of  every-day  life  are  they  who  have  the  least 
faculty  for  making  things  go  better.  Real  executive  ability 
and  force  belong  to  persons  of  a  calm,  equable  and  steady 
mind.  Such  people  take  things  as  they  come :  if  it  rains 
they  let  it,  and,  with  umbrella  and  rubbers,  go  about  the 
work  that  is  to  be  done  ;  if  company  comes  unexpectedly  to 
dinner,  they  give  them  the  best  they  have,  and  with  the 
sauce  of  cheerfulness  make  a  dinner  of  herbs  more  enjoy 
able  than  a  stalled  ox ;  if  the  china  falls  they  smile  at  the 
last  remark  as  if  they  did  not  hear  the  awful  crash  ;  or  when 
the  market  falls,  and  real  estate  and  fancy  stocks,  and  the 
price  of  corn,  go  rushing  amain  down,  they  possess  their 
souls  in  patience,  saying  it  will  all  come  around  right,  by  and 
by  :  when  it  rains,  let  it  rain. 

This  spirit  of  acquiescence  in  the  divine  will  is  in  har 
mony  with  the  use  of  all  right  means  to  produce  such  results 
as  our  judgment  approves.  But  it  also  forbids  impatience, 
grumbling,  fretfulness,  the  sulks,  despondency ;  and  it  re 
quires  us  in  all  things,  even  in  the  smallest,  to  say  with  reve 
rence  and  childlike  submission,  "  Not  my  will,  but  Thine  be 
done." 


160  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT: 

HIS  RELIGIOUS  VIEWS  AND  THE  REV.  DR.  ALDEN'S  THOUGHTS 
ON  THE  "  RELIGIOUS  LIFE." 

New  and  beautiful  light  has  been  shed  on  the  inner  life  and 
thought  of  our  late  illustrious  poet  and  friend,  Mr.  Bryant. 

This  is  the  lovely,  leafy  month  of  June,  the  month  in  which 
he  wished  to  die  and  be  buried.  His  wish  was  granted.  It 
is  now  just  a  year  since  we  buried  him  by  the  side  of  her 
whom  he  loved  in  youth  and  old  age.  It  is  natural,  and  it  is 
well,  to  think  of  him  at  such  a  time  as  this. 

And  it  is  the  sweetest  of  all  pleasures,  in  connection  with 
his  memory,  to  think  of  him  as  one  who  trusted  with  child 
like  faith  in  the  work  and  worth  of  Jesus  Christ  for  salvation, 
and  having  entered  into  rest  through  that  living  way,  is  now 
a  partaker  of  the  promises. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph  Alden,  President  of  the  Normal  Col 
lege,  Albany,  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Bryant,  and  when 
he  had  prepared  a  brief,  but  very  clear  and  evangelical  treatise 
on  "The  Religious  Life,"  he  submitted  the  manuscript  to  Mr. 
Bryant,  and  requested  him  to  write  a  few  pages  by  way  of 
introduction.  This  request  was  cheerfully  complied  with, 
and  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  these  few  pages,  written  just 
at  the  close  of  his  long  life,  and  left  unfinished  on  his  desk 
when  death  suddenly  summoned  him,  contain  a  more  distinct 
and  satisfactory  declaration  of  his  religious  opinions  than  he 
has  given  elsewhere  in  the  thousands  of  pages  that  flowed 
from  his  prolific  mind. 

It  was  not  new  to  me  that  Mr.  Bryant  held  tenderly  and 
truly  to  that  view  of  the  atoning  work  of  Christ  which  is 
inconsistent  with  the  Unitarian  idea  of  the  person  and  office 
of  the  Saviour.  When  in  Italy  twenty-five  years  ago  I  learned 
the  circumstances  under  which  Mr.  Bryant  came  to  partake 
of  the  Lord's  Supper  with  her  by  whose  side  his  mortal  now 
sleeps  waiting  the  resurrection.  They  were  in  Naples  with 
an  invalid  lady  friend,  who  was  visited  in  her  illness  by 
the  chaplain  of  the  Scotch  Presbyterian  church.  It  was  sup- 


WILLIAM  CULLEW  BRYANT.  1 6 1 

posed  that  her  death  was  near,  and  as  she  had  expressed  a 
desire  to  receive  the  Holy  Communion,  the  pastor  made  an 
appointment  for  its  administration.  In  the  meantime  Mrs. 
Bryant  informed  her  husband  of  the  expected  service,  and 
asked  him  if  he  would  be  pleased  to  participate  with  them. 
He  said  that  he  would  be  very  glad  to  do  so  if  the  pastor 
thought  it  proper,  and  for  this  purpose  he  conversed  fully  as 
to  his  views  and  feelings  with  the  Presbyterian  minister,  who 
encouraged  him  to  unite  with  the  family  in  this  touching 
memorial.  Mr.  Bryant  did  so,  and  on  his  return  from  Europe, 
being  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Presbyterian  church  at 
Roslyn,  where  he  and  Mrs.  B.  are  buried,  he  came  regularly 
and  devoutly  to  the  Lord's  table,  though  he  never  removed 
his  membership  from  the  Unitarian  church  of  which  Dr.  Bel 
lows  is  pastor.  Dr.  Ely,  the  Roslyn  minister,  was  a  college 
friend  of  mine,  and  being  intimate  with  Mr.  Bryant,  often 
related  to  me  his  conversations,  with  the  assurance  that  Mr. 
Bryant  was  a  humble  and  sincere  believer  in  the  evangelical 
system. 

Dr.  Alden's  little  book  is  a  vigorous  assertion  of  the  true 
idea  of  a  religious  life,  the  way  to  it,  by  repentance  and  faith. 
The  author  shows  faith  to  be  something  more  than  believing 
that  Christ  died  for  sinners,  and  he  explains  that  "one  has 
faith  in  Christ  when  he  trusts  him  as  his  personal  Saviour." 
He  teaches,  also,  that "  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  is  ne 
cessary  to  the  exercise  of  repentance  and  faith."  And  again,  he 
says  "  if  a  man  seeks  to  conform  his  whole  life  to  the  Divine 
will,  looking  to  God  for  help,  and  relying  on  the  merits  of 
that  Christ  as  the  ground  of  his  acceptance  with  God,  he  has  a 
right  to  regard  himself  as  a  converted  man."  These  are  the 
opening  sentiments  of  a  brief  work  on  the  religious  life,  the 
life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man,  the  indwelling  of  the  Spirit 
bringing  to  the  surface  and  producing  the  fruits  of  holy  obe 
dience  to  the  law  of  God.  It  would  be  well  for  the  Church, 
well  for  individuals,  for  each  private  Christian,  to  get  this  book 
and  make  its  practical  principles  a  part  of  daily  experience. 

But  how  did  Mr.  Bryant  take  it  ?  He  read  it  in  manu 
script  ;  and  he  very  carefully  says  that,  as  to  those  sentiments 


1 62  IRENJEUS  LETTERS. 

in  the  book  about  which  there  may  be  "  a  divergence  of  views 
among  Christian  denominations,"  he  will  not  express  an 
opinion.  And  he  adds ;  "  But  I  can  only  regret  that  there 
should  be  any  who  have  disowned  the  humble  and  simple 
faith  which,  carried  out  into  the  daily  acts  of  life,  produces 
results  so  desirable,  so  important  to  the  welfare  of  mankind 
in  the  present  state  of  existence,  and  so  essential  to  a  prepa 
ration  for  the  life  upon  which  we  are  to  enter  when  we  pass 
beyond  the  grave."  Then  this  great  poet,  philanthropist  and 
philosopher  laments  the  tendency  of  modern  scientists  to 
turn  away  the  attention  of  men  from  the  teachings  of  the 
gospel,  and  to  look  with  scorn  upon  the  Christian  system. 

Now  I  am  about  to  copy  a  passage  which,  in  the  value  of 
its  testimony,  in  the  beauty  of  its  expression,  and  its  evangel 
ical  spirit,  was  never  excelled  in  the  same  number  of  lines  by 
any  uninspired  man : 

"This  character,  of  which  Christ  was  the  perfect  model,  is  in  itself  so 
attractive,  so  '  altogether  lovely,'  that  I  cannot  describe  in  language  the 
admiration  with  which  I  regard  it ;  nor  can  I  express  the  gratitude  I  feel  for 
the  dispensation  which  bestowed  that  example  on  mankind,  for  the  truths 
which  he  taught  and  the  sufferings  he  endured  for  our  sakes.  I  tremble  to 
think  what  the  world  would  be  without  Him.  Take  away  the  blessing  of 
the  advent  of  his  life  and  the  blessings  purchased  by  his  death,  in  what  an 
abyss  of  guilt  would  man  have  been  left !  It  would  seem  to  be  blotting  the 
sun  out  of  the  heavens — to  leave  our  system  of  worlds  in  chaos,  frost,  and 
darkness. 

"  In  my  view  of  the  life,  the  teachings,  the  labors,  and  the  sufferings  of 
the  blessed  Jesus,  there  can  be  no  admiration  too  profound,  no  love  of  which 
the  human  heart  is  capable  too  warm,  no  gratitude  too  earnest  and  deep 
of  which  He  is  justly  the  object.  It  is  with  sorrow  that  my  love  for  Him  is 
so  cold,  and  my  gratitude  so  inadequate.  It  is  with  sorrow  that  I  see  any 
attempt  to  put  aside  His  teachings  as  a  delusion,  to  turn  men's  eyes  from  his 
example,  to  meet  with  doubt  and  denial  the  story  of  his  life.  For  my  part, 
if  I  thought  that  the  religion  of  skepticism  were  to  gather  strength  and  pre 
vail  and  become  the  dominant  view  of  mankind,  I  should  despair  of  the  fate 
of  mankind  in  the  years  that  are  yet  to  come." 

I  have  read  that  passage  over  and  over  again  with  ever- 
increasing  admiration  and  gratitude :  my  mind  consents  to 
his  acknowledgment  of  human  guilt,  its  need  of  pardon,  of 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT.  163 

the  sufferings  and  death  of  Christ  "endured  for  our  sakes," 
"purchasing"  the  blessings  without  which  we  would  have 
been  left  in  an  abyss  of  darkness.  And  my  eyes  fill  with 
tears  of  sympathy  when  I  hear  Bryant  saying,  "  It  is  with 
sorrow  that  my  love  for  Him  is  so  cold,  and  my  gratitude  so 
inadequate." 

To  the  wall  of  my  library,  in  which  I  am  writing,  I  lookup 
and  see  the  portrait  of  Bryant,  serene,  sublime,  in  its  thought 
ful,  penetrating  gaze  into  the  future.  It  is  as  if  taken  while 
he  was  composing  the  lines  which  I  have  just  quoted  from 
his  pen.  Underneath  it  hangs,  framed,  a  note  he  wrote  to 
me,  with  the  gift  of  a  poem  that  he  copied,  at  great  length, 
for  me  with  his  own  hand  when  he  was  80  years  old.  He 
seems  very  near,  when  I  see  him  in  the  light  of  his  beautiful 
life,  his  trustful  faith  in  Christ  as  his  only  Saviour,  and  his 
earnest  expectation  of  immortality. 

It  is  good  to  bear  in  mind  that  outside  of  the  blessed  con 
gregation  who  are  called  by  the  name  we  bear,  there  are  mul 
titudes  innumerable  whom  Christ  knows  as  his  and  loves 
with  dying  and  undying  affection.  The  system  of  religion 
on  which  Unitarianism  exists  as  a  Church,  and  the  system  of 
Romanism,  appear  to  me  utterly  incompatible  with  the 
Christian  religion  as  Bryant  explains  it,  as  Keble  and  New 
man  sang  it  in  their  spiritual  songs.  But  in  the  mazes  of 
error  in  which  even  devout  minds  are  sometimes  involved, 
there  are  members  of  the  body  of  Christ,  of  Christ's  Church, 
and  whoever  anywhere,  and  under  whatever  system,  bewild 
ered,  oppressed,  or  rejoicing,  feels  himself  to  be  a  sinner  par 
doned  and  saved  by  the  sufferings  and  death  of  Jesus  Christ, 
that  man,  though  he  were  the  Pope  of  Rome  or  the  thief  on 
the  cross,  I  love  to  call  my  brother  and  a  member  of  the 
Church  of  Christ. 


164  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


WARRIORS  ON  WAR. 

While  I  am  writing  this  letter  a  funeral  pageant  is  passing 
in  sight  from  my  study  window.  In  the  Governor's  Room  in 
the  City  Hall  the  dead  body  of  Major-General  Hooker  has 
been  lying  in  state.  Crowds  have  been  going  in  to  look  on 
the  face  of  the  soldier  as  he  lies — 

A  -warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Now  they  are  bringing  the  coffin  down  the  steps.  The 
procession  forms.  Banners  are  draped,  and  droop  in  honor 
of  the  dead.  The  pageant  passes  on.  Five  minutes  ago  the 
Park  was  thronged.  It  is  deserted  now.  Dust  to  dust. 

In  August  last  I  spent  a  Sabbath  among  the  White 
Mountains,  at  the  Profile  House,  with  Gen.  Hooker.  He 
spoke  to  me  of  his  mother,  of  her  fondness  for  the 
New  York  Observer,  and  of  the  religious  instruction  she  gave 
him,  and  he  was  not  able  to  say  that  he  had  lived  up  to  the 
lessons  of  his  childhood. 

"  But  the  truth  is,"  he  said,  "  a  man  cannot  be  good,  and 
be  a  fighting  man.  He  must  have  the  devil  in  him.  To 
kill  one  another,  men  must  have  their  blood  up,  and  then 

they  are  just  like  devils.  Now  there's  General ,"  naming 

one  of  the  generals  of  the  last  war,  "  he  is  too  good  a  man  to 
command  an  army :  when  two  armies  come  in  collision,  he 
is  afraid  somebody  will  get  hurt :  he  can't  bear  to  have  blood 
shed  :  he's  a  good  man,  very  good,  everybody  loves  him,  but 
he  has  not  enough  of  the  devil  to  be  a  good  general." 

I  sought  to  take  another  view  of  the  subject,  and  argued 
that  many  splendid  generals  had  been  men  of  high  moral 
and  religious  character,  who  pursued  the  profession  of  arms 
as  a  duty  to  their  country,  regarding  war  as  a  necessary  evil, 
and  the  last  resort  of  government. 

"  Very  true,"  he  said,  "but  when  it  comes  to  fighting,  all 
the  devil  that  is  in  a  man  must  come  out." 

And  then  the  conversation  took  a  turn  for  the  better.   He 


WARRIORS  ON  WAR.  165 

had  been  listening  to  one  of  the  discussions  for  which  the 
piazza,  of  the  Profile  House  is  famous.  Every  day,  Sundays 
not  excepted,  a  group  of  lawyers,  clergymen,  statesmen,  and 
men  of  business,  get  into  a  war  of  words  on  some  question 
of  ethics,  science,  or  politics,  the  first  remark  made  by  any 
one  being  challenged,  defended  or  argued,  until  the  whole 
company  is  by  the  ears.  On  this  Sunday  afternoon  some  of 
us  wished  to  keep  the  debate  on  a  Sabbath  day  track,  and  the 
morning  sermon  by  Dr.  Bridgman  furnished  the  topic. 
Some  one  made  an  observation  on  the  folly  of  prayer,  which 
was  like  a  red  flag  before  a  bull,  and  we  of  the  orthodox 
persuasion  rushed  into  the  arena,  ready  to  do  battle  for  the 
truth  against  all  comers.  It  was  to  this  discussion  Gen. 
Hooker  had  been  listening  in  silence,  sitting  out  of  the  circle, 
unnoticed  by  the  company.  He  was  infirm,  his  tongue 
unready  for  service,  but  his  mind  was  clear  and  his  hearing 
perfect.  He  said  to  me  the  next  morning: 

"  You  carried  too  many  guns  for  those  fellows  yesterday. 
I  never  listened  to  a  conversation  in  my  life  with  so  much 
interest :  but  you  had  the  advantage  in  being  at  home  on 
the  subject,  while  the  other  side  were  all  at  sea." 

This  gave  me  an  opening  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  the  Gen 
eral,  not  as  pointed,  perhaps,  as  they  would  have  been  had  I 
known  they  were  the  last  between  us.  But  they  were.  We 
parted  at  Bethlehem,  and  I  did  not  see  him  again. 

As  they  are  bringing  his  body  down  the  stone  steps  of  the 
City  Hall  to  bear  him  to  the  house  of  God,  and  thence  to 
his  sepulchre  in  the  West,  I  remember  his  words  with  a 
shuddering  distinctness,  and  I  ask  myself  if  it  be  indeed  true 
that  a  man  must  have  the  devil  in  him  to  be  a  great  captain 
and  a  good  soldier. 

Well,  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  could  fill  this  sheet  with  the 
names  and  story  of  illustrious  generals,  whose  gentleness  and 
firmness,  genius  and  success  were  never  associated  with  the 
fierce,  fiery,  dare-devil  ferocity  which  Gen.  Hooker  regarded  as 
an  essential  element  of  the  great  military  man.  The  brilliant, 
dashing,  impetuous  chieftain  rarely,  if  ever,  is  also  the  sub 
lime,  self-contained  commander  who  organizes  campaigns 


166  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

and  decisive  battles.  Seldom,  indeed,  are  all  the  elements 
of  the  true  soldier  blended  as  they  were  in  our  Washington, 
or  in  the  British  Wellington.  Perhaps  Alexander  or  Caesar, 
or  Napoleon,  was  a  more  splendid  general  than  either  of 
them.  But  the  last  three  were  selfish  and  ambitious:  the 
first  two  were  simply  patriots,  and  having  served  and  saved 
their  country,  laid  down  their  arms  without  a  stain  on  their 
names.  The  devil  had  much  to  do  with  the  three,  very  little 
with  the  two. 

War  is  an  awful  evil,  almost  always  a  gigantic  crime.  It 
may  be  necessary  as  the  last  resort  for  the  preservation  of 
national  life,  when  the  madness  or  the  folly  of  an  enemy 
requires  his  destruction.  To  maintain  government,  the 
enemies  of  it — as  every  law-breaker  is  its  enepiy — must  be 
restrained  or  punished :  and  so  the  army  is  the  nation's 
police,  essential  while  bad  men  live  to  plot  and  murder. 

But  it  is  high  time  that  Christian  nations,  like  Great  Bri 
tain  and  the  United  States,  pursued  the  arts  of  peace,  and  so 
lived  with  the  barbarous  peoples  near  them,  or  far  off,  as  to 
avoid  the  horrors  of  war.  It  is  not  true  that  we  or  the 
British  people  are  guiltless  before  God  for  the  blood  that  is 
shed  in  reducing  savage  or  semi-civilized  peoples  to  submis 
sion.  If  the  lust  of  territory  or  gold  inspired  the  aggression 
that  provoked  resistance,  and  thus  precipitated  conflict, 
when  inquisition  for  blood  is  made  it  will  be  required  at  the 
hands  of  those  who  kindled  the  fire. 

In  all  my  reading  of  history  and  biography,  ancient  or 
modern,  I  have  read  nothing  more  awful  than  the  battle 
scenes  when  the  Russians  were  first  beaten  by  the  Turks  in 
1877;  and  the  storming  of  Badajoz  by  the  British  in  1812. 
Yet  the  history  of  the  human  race  is  a  long  register  of  such 
lurid  and  frightful  scenes.  Gen.  Hooker  was  right  when  he 
said  that  the  devil  is  the  chief  instigator  of  war.  Hell  must 
be  the  only  place  in  the  universe  where  such  scenes  give 
delight. 

It  is  vain,  perhaps,  to  indulge  the  fond  hope  that  the  day 
is  near  when  nations  will  settle  their  disputes  by  reason 
and  law.  Yet  the  international  conferences,  freedom  of 


0    THOU  OF  LITTLE  FAITH.  167 

commerce,  frequent  intercourse,  advanced  intelligence,  and 
the  power  of  the  gospel, — not  the  least  though  named  last, 
— are  doing  a  work  that  must  gradually  make  war  more 
difficult  among  civilized,  commercial  and  Christian  peoples. 
We  may  hope  in  God  that  the  future  is  not  a  far  future  when 
the  nations  will  learn  war  no  more. 

Gen.  Hooker's  funeral  pageant  brings  to  mind  the  various 
meetings  I  have  had  with  him,  and  among  others  one  of  the 
most  enjoyable  dinners.  A  dozen  guests  were  at  table,  of 
whom  all  were  military  men  except  myself.  In  the  midst  of 
animated  conversation  one  of  the  generals  let  slip  an  oath  ; 
when  our  host,  by  way  of  apology,  said  to  me  very  dis 
tinctly  : 

"  You  are  probably  not  accustomed  to  that  at  table." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  see  the  great  necessity  of  my 
being  here." 

This  was  received  with  a  hearty  laugh,  and  during  three  or 
four  hours  that  followed,  there  was  no  more  of  that. 

If  there  be  any  defence  for  war,  there  is  no  possible 
apology  for  profane  swearing.  It  is  said  to  be  a  military 
habit,  more  common  in  the  army — not  in  Flanders  only,  but 
in  every  army — than  elsewhere.  Yet  it  has  less  excuse  than 
almost  any  other  vice,  and  no  vice  has  any. 


O  THOU  OF  LITTLE  FAITH ! 

One  of  my  friends  is  in  a  bad  way.  Once  he  was  poor ; 
now  he  is  above  the  fear  of  want.  When  he  was  so  poor 
that  life  was  a  daily  struggle  to  live ;  when  those  depending 
on  him  for  bread  would  be  left  destitute  were  his  health  to 
fail,  then  his  soul  was  calm  and  joyful  in  the  God  of  his 
strength,  for  his  faith  was  like  a  mountain,  and  his  peace  like 
a  river.  His  faith  did  not  hinder  his  works,  but  with  the 
firm  persuasion  that  God  helps  those  who  help  themselves, 
he  wrought  out  success,  and  is  now  well-to-do  in  the  world. 

And  here  comes  the  mystery  of  his  experience :  he  has  not 


1 68  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

the  same  faith  in  God  that  he  had  when  he  had  nothing  else  ! 
When  he  had  no  money  he  had  faith  :  with  the  increase  of 
wealth  he  lost  his  childlike  trust  in  God.  He  does  not  enjoy 
the  comforts  of  religion  as  he  did  when  the  cares  and  anxieties 
of  unsuccessful  business  might  have  worried  him  night  and 
day  but  for  the  grace  that  gave  him  comfort.  He  simply 
verified  the  promise  of  strength  according  to  his  day. 

One  night,  on  the  Mediterranean,  the  ship  was  supposed 
to  be  in  great  peril.  The  Italian  captain  and  all  hands,  hav 
ing  lashed  everything  fast  that  had  not  been  swept  overboard 
by  the  waves  and  tempest,  betook  themselves  to  prayer.  It 
was  a  long  agony  with  the  storm.  Darkness  made  the 
scene  more  terrible  and  increased  the  hazards  of  the  night. 
It  was  evident  enough  that  there  was  no  help  in  man.  In 
that  supreme  hour  the  principle  of  faith  had  its  perfect  work, 
as  it  does  not  in  fair  weather  and  smooth  water.  Not  faith 
in  the  strength  of  the  vessel  or  the  skill  of  its  master,  but 
faith  in  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God,  who  will  do  what 
is  best,  so  that  life  or  death  will  be  the  highest  good  and 
most  to  be  desired.  That  gives  peace  to  a  troubled  soul, 
and  the  excitement  of  such  an  hour  sometimes  rouses  the 
mind  into  a  state  of  almost  joy.  This  is  the  fulfilment  of 
the  promise,  "My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee" — not  to  remove 
the  trouble  or  danger,  but  to  give  courage  and  comfort  in  the 
hour  of  peril. 

How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the 
kingdom  ;  they  hinder  in  these  two  ways  :  men  trust  in  them 
and  so  forget  God,  and  men  are  troubled  about  them  lest 
they  lose  what  they  have,  and  thus  are  turned  away  from 
God.  This  is  one,  and  the  chief  reason  why  the  soul  often 
prospers  more  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth  than  in  the  possession 
of  it.  Every  sensible  Christian  knows  that  except  the  Lord 
build  the  house  the  workmen  labor  in  vain  :  unless  God  pros 
per  our  industry  and  skill.our  diligence  in  business  will  be  of 
no  avail,  and  so,  if  we  are  wise  and  true,  we  cast  ourselves, 
with  childlike  confidence,  on  the  arm  of  the  Almighty  and 
work  with  a  will,  knowing  that  it  is  not  of  him  that  willeth 
or  runneth,  but  God  who  giveth  the  increase.  The  sovereign 


0    THOU  OF  LITTLE  FAITH.  169 

will,  wisdom,  power  and  love  of  God  are  as  truly  to  be  felt 
and  seen  in  the  success  or  failure  of  one's  business,  as  in  the 
matter  of  his  life  and  health.  Yet  there  are  many  Christians 
who  kiss  the  rod  when  a  lovely  child  is  removed  by  death, 
but  will  not  recognize  a  Father's  hand  in  the  loss  of  all  their 
worldly  goods.  In  making  money,  a  good  man  may  ear 
nestly  and  sincerely  seek  God's  blessing  on  the  labor  of  his 
hands,  but  when  the  money  has  come,  he  is  in  great  danger 
of  saying  to  himself,  "  Soul  take  thine  ease,  God  has  done  all 
you  asked  him  to  do,  and  you  need  not  be  anxious  any 
longer." 

The  boy  had  this  spirit  in  him  who  said  his  prayers  always 
on  going  to  bed,  but  never  in  the  morning,  giving  as  his 
reason  for  this  neglect,  that  a  smart  boy  could  take  care  of 
himself  in  the  day-time. 

On  the  pendant  leaf  of  a  text-book  before  me  is  this 
passage :  "  For  I  have  learned  in  whatsoever  state  I  am, 
therewith  to  be  content."  And  the  soul  that,  like  a  bird 
away  from  its  nest,  is  uneasy  until  it  finds  its  young  and  its 
home,  has  as  hard  work  to  be  content  with  riches  as  with 
out.  Money  does  not  touch  the  spot  where  religion  lives  in 
the  human  breast.  The  heart  of  the  poor  man  and  the  heart 
of  the  rich  are  alike  open  to  the  grace  of  God,  both  have 
their  own  temptations  and  difficulties :  it  is  a  question, 
"  Which  is  the  more  exposed  to  the  assaults  of  evil,"  "  which 
is  the  more  congenial  to  the  life  of  God  ?"  So  Agur  rea 
soned,  and  so  he  prayed  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
might  be  his  lot.  If  we  had  our  choice  of  the  three  estates, 
— nothing,  something,  or  everything — I  reckon  we  would  all 
take  the  last  and  run  the  risk  of  being  hurt  by  having  too 
much  of  a  good  thing.  But  the  compensations  of  God's 
providence  are  wonderful.  As  a  blind  man  has  his  sense  of 
feeling  exquisitely  refined,  so  that  it  becomes  the  inlet  of 
pleasure  and  a  means  of  usefulness  unknown  in  the  day  when 
the  light  of  heaven  shone  upon  him,  so  the  man  who  has  lost 
his  property  by  the  depression  of  trade  and  the  shrinkage  of 
values,  may  have  his  heart  enlarged,  his  faith  in  God  tried 
and  purified,  his  joy  increased  a  hundred-fold  by  reason  of 


170  IRE  MM  US  LETTERS. 

the  rich  communications  of  the  Spirit  such  as  were  never  his 
in  the  days  when  corn  and  wine  were  increased. 

Even  so,  and  more  marvellous,  is  the  experience  of  the 
Christian  who  grows  heavenward  as  he  lays  up  treasures  on 
earth.  It  is  possible  so  to  do.  There  is  a  high  and  holy 
sense  in  which  it  is  sinful  and  dangerous  to  hoard  money. 
It  is  always  sinful  to  be  miserly.  Wealth  is  a  power  for 
good,  and  therefore  may  be  sought,  and,  when  obtained,  may 
be  a  help  to  the  highest  kind  of  usefulness  and  happiness. 
It  is  blessed  to  give.  Money  answereth  all  things,  And  in 
the  right  use  of  wealth  the  good  man  gets  the  heart-glow  the 
poor  never  feel. 

And  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  the  higher  life  of  man  on 
earth,  the  true  living  above  the  world  while  living  in  it,  may 
be  enjoyed  when  a  man  has  no  money,  when  he  is  making 
money,  and  when  he  has  become  a  man  of  wealth.  As  the 
furnace  of  adversity  may  purify  the  Christian,  he  may  grow 
in  grace  while  tried  by  poverty,  or  disappointment  and  failure 
in  business.  In  the  storm  his  faith  may  be  tried  and  greatly 
strengthened.  In  the  mount  of  prosperity,  his  soul  filled 
with  gratitude  and  the  spirit  of  self-consecration,  he  may 
exult  in  God,  from  whom  cometh  every  good  gift. 

In  all  circumstances,  conditions,  and  changes,  faith  in  God 
brings  contentment  and  peace.  It  is  not  of  him  that  willeth, 
but  of  God  who  giveth  ;  and  to  them  who  trust  in  him  and 
do  his  will  He  gives  all  needful  things.  Good  when  He  gives 
and  good  when  He  withholds,  blessed  be  His  name  forever- 
more. 


TWO  PICTURES:    IDEAL,  BUT  REAL. 


In  the  morning  of  her  career  she  made  choice  of  the  life 
that  now  is. 

She  shut  her  eyes  upon  the  glories  of  the  better  land  where 
are  pleasures  forevermore.  In  the  domestic  circle,  of  which 


TWO   PICTURES:   IDEAL,  BUT  REAL.          Ift 

she  should  have  been  the  light  and  joy,  her  wilfulness,  sel 
fishness  and  impatience  of  parental  authority  and  counsel 
made  her  a  living  anxiety  and  grief  to  parents  and  friends 
who  would  have  won  her  to  their  hearts  by  the  love  she  put 
away.  In  school  she  despised  knowledge,  counted  every  loss 
of  time  and  chance  of  improvement  a  decided  gain,  and 
gloried  in  freedom  from  wholesome  restraints :  that  liberty 
which  to  her  seemed  the  essence  of  enjoyment,  but  which  is 
the  door  of  licentiousness  and  shame.  She  was  now  in  the 
bloom  of  youthful  beauty,  gifted  with  graces  of  form  and  fea 
ture  to  win  the  admiration  of  the  world.  And  forth  she  went, 
the  gayest  of  the  gay,  and  rushed  into  life  to  quaff  its  nectar 
and  revel  amidst  its  sweets  and  flowers. 

A  few  brief  years  after,  and  a  good  man  met  her  on  the 
streets  of  a  great  city,  a  lost  thing,  outcast,  homeless,  blasted, 
ruined,  all  but  damned.  She  knew  him,  a  friend  of  other 
days,  but  no  trace  of  her  former  self  was  there  and  she  was 
strange  to  him.  She  told  him  the  story  of  her  gay,  wild, 
joyous,  reckless,  sinful,  wretched,  downward  career,  and  then 
begged  for  a  pittance  with  which  to  buy  the  drink  that  should 
first  madden  and  then  stupefy,  anything  to  quiet  the  cries  of 
memory  that  rung  in  the  ear  of  her  frantic  soul.  It  was  in 
vain  he  pointed  to  the  door  of  escape  from  the  doom  to 
which  she  was  hastening.  She  spurned  his  proffered  kind 
ness,  and  told  him  that  all  she  wanted  of  life  was  to  be  rid  of 
it,  and  the  greatest  good  for  her  was  to  die.  He  gave  her 
money,  and  in  an  hour  she  was  senseless.  She  woke  but  to 
repeat  the  scene.  Lost  to  all  feeling  of  shame,  without 
conscience  or  hope,  she  sank  from  one  dark  depth  of  woe 
and  crime  to  another,  till  she  was  found  at  last  a  bloated, 
diseased,  disfigured,  loathsome  corpse,  exposed  for  a  while  in 
the  Morgue,  but  no  friend  appeared  to  reclaim  the  disgust 
ing  remains  that  were  hurried  away  to  the  charnel-house 
and  hid  out  of  sight  in  a  pauper's  grave. 

And  is  that  the  end  ?  Would  God  it  were !  But  this 
life  of  ours  is  an  endless  life.  And  who  is  bold  enough  to 
lift  the  veil  and  watch  the  career  of  that  fallen  angel  into 
the  realms  of  lost  souls  ?  Who  shall  report  the  sorrows  and 


17*  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

the  shame  of  one  who  beholds  afar  off  the  blessedness  of 
the  good,  while  she  reaps  the  fruit  of  her  own  doings,  and 
forever,  as  she  contemplates  her  eternal  loss,  exclaims  in 
those  saddest  of  all  sad  words,  "  //  might  have  been."  "  I 
might  have  been  pure,  and  holy,  and  wise,  and  useful  and 
happy!  I  might  have  been  like  an  angel  among  the  angels, 
washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,  amid  the  seraphs  who 
continually  do  cry,  '  Holy,  holy,  holy :'  but  I  am  here,  a 
wicked,  miserable  thing ;  and  the  gulf  between  me  and  them 
is  impassable.  My  forever  is  begun.  This  is  my  endless 
life." 

II. 

Another  vision  rises. 

She  was  the  sunlight  of  the  home  where  parental  kindness 
and  filial  love  anticipated  heaven.  Endowed  of  God  with 
fair  powers  of  mind,  she  gave  the  spring-time  of  life  to  pre 
paration  for  the  future.  Her  soul  was  united  by  faith  in 
Christ  to  the  Infinite  Father ;  loving  God  in  the  person  of 
his  Son,  and  in  all  the  manifestations  of  himself  in  his  works 
and  word,  she  was  in  union  also  with  all  that  is  lovely  in 
the  world  around  her.  She  stored  her  mind  with  useful 
knowledge :  trained  her  spirit  to  obedience  by  patient 
acceptance  of  every  duty :  bearing  with  cheerfulness  the 
burdens  laid  upon  her.  Within  her  own  spirit,  silently  and 
alone,  she  fought  a  great  fight  with  self ;  with  passion  and 
pride,  and  love  of  ease  and  pleasure :  pleasures  falsely  so 
called,  the  foam  on  the  deep  sea  of  life  :  the  frivolous  amuse 
ments  well  enough  for  the  pastime  of  an  hour  to  recreate 
the  wearied  soul,  but  miserable  as  a  purpose  and  end.  Life 
to  her  was  serious  :  life  was  earnest.  She  would  be  and  do 
for  others,  and  so  become  like  Him  who  loved  us  and  gave 
himself  for  us.  The  refined,  cultured,  Christian  woman,  the 
noble  wife  and  mother,  she  took  her  place  in  the  sphere 
which  Providence  assigned  her  ;  doing,  day  by  day,  what  her 
hands  found  to  do ;  lightening  the  burdens  of  others,  minis 
tering  to  their  wants  with  unfaltering  care ;  shedding,  as  from 
angels'  wings,  the  fragrance  of  her  worth  on  every  path  she 


TEN  DAYS  ON  THE   SHIP.  .        173 

trod,  winning  all  hearts  by  ways  and  words  of  gentleness  and 
grace.  The  almighty  power  of  love  was  wielded  by  her  fair 
hands.  God  is  love,  and  she  dwelt  in  God,  and  by  him  sub 
dued  all  things  unto  herself.  Sorrows  gathered  round  her 
and  covered  her  as  with  a  cloud.  But  the  face  of  Him  who 
walked  in  the  furnace  with  his  children,  illumined  the  cloud, 
and  out  of  it  came  a  voice  saying,  "  Fear  not,  for  I  have 
redeemed  thee."  Her  power  reached  the  springs  of  effort  in 
every  department  of  useful  Christian  work,  and  by  her 
agency  the  ignorant  were  taught,  the  poor  were  fed  and 
clothed,  the  sick  were  healed,  the  sad  were  comforted,  and 
this  bright  beautiful  world  was  made  more  bright,  more 
beautiful,  by  her  being  in  it. 

To  those  who  knew  her,  she  never  gave  a  pang  until  she 
came  to  die,  and  then  they  sorrowed  only  that  earth  was  to 
lose  what  heaven  stooped  to  take.  Angels  had  waited  long 
to  have  their  own,  and  hovered  on  willing  wings,  above  her 
couch,  to  bear  her  to  their  home  on  high. 

Hark,  they  whisper  !  angels  say 
Sister  Spirit,  come  away. 

With  cheerful  voice  and  smiling  face  she  answered, 

"  Lend,  lend  your  wings 
I  mount,  I  fly," 

and  passed  within  the  veil.    *  *  * 


TEN  DAYS  ON  THE  SHIP. 

And  here's  a  hand  for  you  from  beyond  the  sea  I 
A  floating  hospital,  a  floating  hotel,  a  little  world  in  a  bark 
on  the  ocean !  We  had  not  been  out  a  day  before  three  of 
every  four — yes,  five  out  of  every  six — were  sick,  down  sick, 
miserably  sick,  and  helpless,  too.  There  is  no  remedy  known 
to  man  that  cures  this  dreadful  malady.  We  were  very 


174  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

closely  packed  at  dinner  ;  the  crowd  so  great  that  each  inch  at 
the  table  was  measured,  and  we  were  put  as  close  as  sardines, 
or  pickles  in  the  Reckhow  jars.  But  when  next  morning 
came,  the  long  rows  of  empty  benches  told  the  sad  story  of 
sorrow  on  the  sea.  As  in  wisdom's  path,  there  was  only  "  here 
and  there  a  traveller."  And  he  who  was  there  had  a  look  of 
stern  defiance  on  his  brow,  or  of  woe-begone-ness,  that  be 
spoke  the  coming  storm.  There  is  no  rank  so  high,  no 
digestion  so  strong,  no  will  so  stubborn,  but  it  may  have  to 
yield  to  this  foul  despot  of  the  sea.  A  few  men,  with  no 
bowels  of  pity,  are  exempt,  and,  true  to  their  nature,  they 
have  no  compassion  on  their  wretched  neighbors.  They  insist 
that  it  is  all  in  your  disposition  ;  just  brace  up  and  not  mind 
it ;  stir  about ;  keep  moving  and  it  will  all  pass  over.  It 
does  pass  over  the  side  of  the  ship.  And  you  may  be  ready 
to  pass  over  also,  but  these  strong-minded  sea-dogs  laugh  at 
the  calamities  of  their  best  friends,  and  are  proud  and  happy 
in  inverse  proportion  to  the  misery  of  others. 

When  I  was  abroad,  ten  years  ago,  a  man  from  our  country 
was  getting  up  a  company  to  supply  ships  with  a  chair  of  his 
invention,  in  which  whoever  sat  should  be  free  from  this 
internal  disorder.  It  was  to  be  screwed  into  the  floor  of  the 
deck,  and  the  passenger  was  to  be  strapped  into  the  chair, 
and  the  theory  of  the  thing  was  that  the  man  would  partake 
of  the  motion  of  the  ship,  and  being  part  and  parcel  of  it, 
would  not  be  disturbed.  The  inventor  would  have  earned  a 
seat  in  the  Department  of  the  Interior,  had  his  invention 
proved  to  be  what  he  promised.  But  these  ten  years  have 
rolled  by,  and  ships  roll,  and  the  seas  roll,  and  men  who  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships  are  as  sick  of  the  sea  as  before,  and 
no  chairs  are  yet  made  in  which  the  wayfaring  man  may  sit 
and  say,  "  I  shall  take  mine  ease."  In  the  dead  of  night, 
above  the  roar  of  the  billows  and  the  rattle  and  thumping  of 
the  engines,  breaks  on  the  ear  of  the  wakeful  passenger  the 
groan  and  the  retch  of  some  poor  body  in  her  agony,  and 
when  the  morning  comes  a  concert  of  voices  celebrates  the 
sufferings  of  those  who  have  waked  only  to  renew  their 
misery. 


TEN  DA  YS  ON   THE  SHIP.  i  75 

Yet  to  most  travellers  all  this  is  transitory,  "  The  darkest 
day,  live  till  to-morrow,  will  have  passed  away."  The  ship 
that  was  a  floating  hospital  becomes  a  great  hotel,  a  house  of 
entertainment,  and  the  amount  of  eating  and  drinking  done 
is  something  fearful !  The  appetite  is  sharpened  by  the 
strong,  salt  air.  High  health  follows  the  brief  illness.  The 
system,  thoroughly  renovated  by  the  strange  process,  comes 
up  with  a  bound,  and  the  man  who  was  yesterday  as  limp  as 
a  rag,  has  the  maw  of  a  tiger,  and  comes  to  dinner  as  to  his 
prey  after  a  famine.  It  is  dinner  all  day.  He  eats  at  nine 
in  the  morning,  and  calls  it  breakfast ;  at  twelve  he  lunches, 
but  he  dines  heartily  at  the  same  time ;  at  four  the  regula 
tion  dinner  comes  on,  and  he  attacks  it  as  if  famished  and 
afraid  that  the  larder  would  give  out;  at  six  he  takes  tea 
and  many  other  things  ;  and  at  eight,  nine,  ten,  and  so  on, 
he  takes  his  supper,  the  heartiest  meal  in  the  day,  for  now 
he  has  no  prospect  of  another  until  breakfast,  and  he  must 
live  through  the  night  some  way.  And  so  he  eats  to  live 
and  lives  to  eat.  Eating  is  the  grand  thing  to  do.  There 
are  other  entertainments :  he  may  play  shuffleboard  on  the 
deck,  and  cards  in  the  cabin ;  see  the  sailors  at  blind-man's- 
buff,  and  at  bear ;  get  up  a  concert  in  the  steerage,  and  kill 
time  in  many  ways  known  only  to  those  who  are  accustomed 
to  "  life  on  the  ocean  wave  ;"  but  after  all  there  is  nothing 
for  him  that  takes  the  place  of  eating,  and  when  he  goes 
through  five  meals  a  day  of  twelve  hours,  there  is  little  time 
left  for  anything  else,  especially  if  he  tarries  long  at  the  wine, 
as  the  manner  of  some  is. 

SABBATH  AT   SEA. 

The  Scythia  left  port  on  Wednesday,  and  by  the  Sunday 
following,  the  ship's  company,  some  five  hundred  souls  in 
all,  were  in  good  health,  and  welcomed  a  bright  Sabbath 
morning  in  May.  Notices  were  posted  that  divine  service 
would  be  held  in  the  main  saloon,  and  as  several  ministers 
of  the  gospel  were  on  board  it  was  reasonable  to  expect  that 
we  would  have  preaching.  But  the  Cunard  line  belongs  to 
the  Established  Church  of  England.  And  it  is  one  of  the 


176  IREN&VS  LETTERS. 


peculiarities  of  the  religion  of  that  venerable  Church,  that  a 
sea  captain  who  is  no  saint,  and  it  may  be  is  quite  the  reverse, 
may  conduct  divine  service,  pronounce  the  absolution,  which 
is  specially  a  ministerial  office,  and  the  benediction  also  — 
the  Apostolic  benediction  J  I  have  preached  the  gospel  on  a 
Cunarder,  after  the  Episcopal  service  was  read  ;  and  any  one 
of  the  clergymen  on  board  would  have  been  happy  to  do  so 
on  this  occasion,  had  we  been  requested  by  the  captain,  who 
is  also  the  chaplain  of  his  own  ship.  But  he  chose  to  keep 
the  thing  in  his  own  hands,  and  to  do  the  religious  as  well  as 
the  nautical  service  of  the  vessel.  And  he  did  it  very  well. 
At  the  hour  appointed^  a  few  passengers  assembled,  perhaps 
a  fourth  part  of  them,  not  more  r  a  dozen  seamen  filed  in, 
and  took  their  seats,  —  for  this  service  is  designed  for  the 
crew,  not  for  the  passengers  ;  the  captain  sat  in  a  chair,  and, 
neither  rising  nor  kneeling,  he  read  the  lessons,  prayers,  &c., 
for  the  day,  including  petitions  for  the  Queen  of  England, 
the  President  of  the  United  States,  Prince  Albert,  and  all 
the  Royal  household.  He  is  a  good  reader.  I  have  heard 
many  clergymen  read  much  worse.  Indeed,  it  is  rare  to  hear 
the  service  read  so  well.  Good  reading  is  less  common  than 
good  speaking.  But  there  is  such  a  sense  of  incongruity  in 
a  sea  captain's  leading  the  devotions  of  a  public  assembly 
when  there  are  ministers  present  whose  duty  it  is  to  preach 
the  Word,  that  one  is  indisposed  to  profit.  It  requires  an 
effort  to  be  reconciled  to  the  situation. 

After  service,  which  was  very  short,  the  passengers  spent 
their  Sunday  as  to  each  one  seemed  good  in  his  own  eyes. 
Whether  there  are  any  rules  and  regulations  for  the  observ 
ance  of  the  day,  I  do  not  know  ;  but  it  was  pleasant  to 
observe  that  many  things  regarded  lawful  and  proper  on 
other  days,  were  laid  aside  by  common  consent,  and  the 
hours  passed  by  as  in  a  well-regulated  Christian  household. 
No  cards  were  played  in  the  saloons.  Indeed,  all  games  and 
pastimes  were  omitted,  and  reading,  conversation,  walking, 
and  talking,  whiled  away  the  hours.  Perhaps  the  dinner 
was  rather  extra.  In  the  evening  some  of  the  company 
joined  in  singing  sacred  songs,  old  familiar  hymns  and  tunes, 


TEN  DAYS  ON   THE   SHIP.  177 

and  some  of  the  popular  revival  melodies  were  welcomed 
with  great  favor,  showing  how  deep  a  hold  they  have  on  the 
universal  heart. 

And  this  ship  is  a  little  world,  a  floating  world.  As  the 
great  globe  is  but  a  speck  in  the  ocean  of  infinity,  and  floats 
in  the  hand  of  Him  who  made  it,  with  its  endless  variety  of 
life  and  interest  and  destiny,  so  this  ship,  a  mere  dot  on  the 
great  ocean,  tossed  like  an  egg-shell  on  the  waves  that  would 
not  be  parted  for  a  minute  if  the  whole  vessel  were  to  go 
down  into  the  fathomless  chambers  below,  is  a  world  in 
miniature,  with  a  countless  variety  of  hope  and  business  and 
purpose  and  everlasting  destiny.  There  is  scarcely  a  rank  or 
condition  of  men  that  has  not  its  representative  within  these 
wooden  walls.  There  are  sixty  nurses  and  children  on  board. 
And  it  doth  not  yet  appear  what  they  shall  be.  The  British 
Minister  is  on  his  way  from  Washington  to  report  to  Her 
Majesty,  his  sovereign.  Several  newly-married  pairs  are  out 
on  their  first  voyage,  life  all  before  them.  The  great  majority 
are  men  of  business  seeking  the  pot  of  gold  at  the  rainbow's 
foot.  And  the  poor  invalids,  tired  of  one  side  of  the  earth, 
are  trying  to  find  on  another  what,  thus  far,  they  have  sought 
in  vain.  Trying  to  live.  All  passions  play  on  this  little 
stage :  petty  ambitions,  jealousies,  rivalries,  and  the  gentle 
courtesies,  sweet  friendships,  and  the  kind  civilities  of  life,  are 
just  as  pronounced,  in  their  deformities  and  their  charms,  as  in 
the  social  world  on  shore.  It  brings  out  the  nature  of  people, 
the  good  and  evil  in  them,  wonderfully,  to  be  kept  a  week  or 
two  on  the  water,  and  you  hardly  know  what  is  in  a  man,  or 
what  you,  yourself,  are,  until  you  have  been  to  sea.  And  so 
we  have  worried  away  these  nine  days  on  shipboard  ;  taking 
in  great  supplies  of  oxygen  from  the  pure  air  on  the  ocean, 
sleeping  much,  and  so  getting  the  rest  that  belongs  to  the 
just,  meditating  on  the  mysteries  of  eternity  suggested 
always  by  the  sight  of  the  unbounded  waste  of  waters,  and 
working  out  problems  saved  up  for  such  a  leisure  time  as 
this.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  a  little  time  in  life  when  one 
can  do  nothing  but  think. 


1REN&US  LETTERS. 


CHESTER  CATHEDRAL  SERVICE. 

How  many  hundred  years  ago  the  Cathedral  of  Chester 
was  founded,  I  do  not  pretend  to  know,  but  in  those  days  of 
old,  when  monks  of  Romish  order  had  their  habitations,  like 
moles  and  bats,  in  crypts,  cloisters,  and  cells,  this  pile  was 
reared,  and  afterwards  came,  with  scores  of  other  church 
properties,  into  the  hands  of  the  Anglican  communion. 

It  was  the  Abbey  of  St.  Werburgh,  and  to  this  day  the 
Bishop  sits  in  his  throne  which  was  the  shrine  of  the  saint, 
what  time  he  was  venerated  in  these  venerable  walls.  The 
wall  of  the  city,  now  a  promenade,  winds  along  and  near  the 
cathedral ;  and  in  the  evening  before  the  Sabbath,  a  solitary 
visitor,  I  stood  on  the  wall  looking  down,  by  the  uncertain 
light  of  the  moon,  into  the  old  burying  ground,  where  the 
dead  forgotten  lie,  who,  long  centuries  ago,  stood  on  this 
same  wall,  and  looked  upon  the  place  in  which  their  dust 
now  waits  the  resurrection.  The  chimes  waked  me  on  the 
Sabbath  morning :  sweetly  solemn  chimes :  the  only  bell- 
ringing  that  we  ought  to  have  in  a  city :  sacred  music,  uni 
versal  worship.  There !  they  are  going  again  this  moment, 
and  from  my  window  I  see  the  towers  and  turrets  from 
which  the  voices  of  the  bells  come  with  their  sweet  melodies 
on  the  evening  air :  fit  expression  of  the  heart's  incense  of 
praise :  it  is  above  the  city,  it  is  not  infected  with  the  greed 
and  grime  of  the  earth,  earthy ;  but  as  if  the  upper  and 
better  life  of  man  were  calling  out  to  heaven,  these  chimes 
waft  his  prayers  and  praises  to  the  skies. 

They  waked  us,  and  then  they  invited  us  to  the  great 
cathedral  for  morning  worship.  So  dilapidated  are  the  sur 
roundings  of  this  irregular  and  antiquated  pile,  it  was  hard 
to  find  an  entrance.  But  as  we  saw  others  passing  in  by  a 
'little  door — a  needle's  eye — we  followed,  and  a  verger — an 
usher  we  might  call  him — received  us  politely,  and,  without 
a  moment's  delay,  led  us  to  excellent  seats  within  the  choir, 
where  the  service  was  conducted :  he  expressed  regret  that 
he  could  not  give  us  better  seats,  but  we  would  not  have 


CHESTER   CATHEDRAL   SERVICE.  179 

chosen  any  others.  In  the  midst  of  the  choir  stood  a  very 
aged  man,  the  chief  of  the  vergers,  who,  leaning  upon  his 
staff,  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  about  him 
and  be  in  the  way  of  the  people  as  they  came  in.  Presently, 
when  a  large  congregation  was  seated,  the  procession  of 
singing  boys  and  singing  men  filed  in,  led  by  three  vergers 
with  symbols  of  office  on  their  shoulders.  When  they  had 
taken  their  seats,  the  choral  service,  or  the  service  intoned 
by  the  choir,  began.  All  the  parts  usually  read  by  the 
minister,  and  responded  to  by  the  people,  were  performed  in 
a  voice  which  was  neither  singing,  chanting,  nor  reading, 
but  a  mixture  of  them  all,  and  so  mingled  as  to  produce  an 
effect  exceedingly  pleasing  to  those  who  have  a  taste  for  the 
musical ;  but  to  others  far  from  being  devotional.  I  have 
heard  monks  intoning  their  service  so  much,  and  am  so  un 
accustomed  to  hear  anything  of  the  kind  elsewhere,  I  was 
not  edified  by  it  now;  but  those  with  me  enjoyed  it  greatly, 
and  assured  me  that  the  music  was  often  exquisite,  and  the 
whole  service  very  impressive. 

Another  "officer"  marched  in,  followed  by  a  venerable 
clergyman,  who  ascended  the  steps  of  the  reading  desk,  and 
gave  the  lessons  of  Scripture.  And  soon  afterwards,  the 
bishop  and  two  other  clergy  were  conducted  to  the  altar, 
where,  in  turn,  they  continued  the  service.  The  youngest  of 
them,  a  minor  canon,  ascended  the  pulpit  and  preached  a 
sermon  of  fifteen  minutes ;  and,  as  the  service  altogether  was 
more  than  two  hours  long,  it  is  plain  that  "prayer  and  praise 
are  here  regarded  as  a  far  more  important  part  of  worship" 
than  the  preaching  of  the  word.  The  sermon  was  good. 
The  doctrine  of  the  presence  and  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
in  the  church,  attending  the  word,  and  helping  the  soul  in  its 
struggles  after  holiness,  was  set  forth  with  clearness  and 
force.  It  was  a  disappointment  to  us  that  Dr.  Howson,  the 
Dean  of  the  Cathedral,  author  of  the  Life  of  Paul,  etc.,  was 
not  in  the  pulpit:  he  was  out  of  town.  But  the  whole 
service  was  grateful  to  the  Christian  heart,  and  in  the  special 
thanksgiving  for  those  who  had  just  safely  crossed  the  ocean, 
we  were  able  fervently  to  join,  for  only  the  day  before  we 


l8o  IREN^EUS  LETTERS, 

had  been  on  the  sea,  and  this  was  our  first  Sabbath  on 
shore. 

And  there  is  something  in  the  place  of  worship.  God  is 
everywhere,  and  they  who  worship  him  in  spirit  and  truth 
will  find  him  and  be  found  of  him,  not  in  this  mountain  only 
nor  in  that,  not  in  the  mighty  temple  only,  but  in  the  hum 
blest  home  where  the  contrite  heart  pours  out  its  wants  into 
his  ever-open  ear.  Yet  he  has  inscribed  his  name  in  places 
where  he  has  promised  to  meet  his  people,  and  of  which 
places  he  has  said,  Here  will  I  dwell.  And  when  one  comes 
into  a  House  of  Prayer  that  has  stood  a  thousand  years,  and 
during  all  that  time  has  been  the  shrine  where  human  hearts 
have  been  brought  with  all  their  yearnings  after  peace,  hope, 
and  heaven,  where  the  sin-sick  and  sorrowing  have  come 
kneeling  at  the  footstool  of  Infinite  compassion  asking  for 
giveness  ;  where  kings,  conquerors,  and  conquered  have  laid 
their  crowns  before  the  altar  and  prayed  to  be  servants  of 
the  Most  High ;  where  rich  and  poor  have  always  met 
together  kneeling  on  the  same  stone  floor ;  and  the  strong 
man  has  bowed  himself,  and  the  maiden,  in  her  loveliness 
and  grief,  has  come  with  her  story  none  but  Jesus  ought  to 
know ;  where  saints  have  sung  songs  of  triumph  on  their 
way  to  Zion  with  everlasting  joy  upon  their  heads,  and  where 
the  ashes  of  the  dead  sleep  in  blessed  hope  while  angels 
watch  their  sepulchres,  waiting  the  music  that  shall  call 
them  up,  through  "  old  marble,"  to  the  judgment;  when  one 
comes  into  such  a  place,  he  may  well  hear  a  voice  saying, 
"  Put  off  thy  shoes  from  off  thy  feet,  for  the  place  whereon 
thou  standest  is  holy  ground  ;  this  is  none  other  than  the 
house  of  God ;  this  is  one  of  the  gates  of  heaven." 

It  is  not  the  exalting  power  of  thes"e  Gothic  arches,  nor  the 
harmony  of  the  lines  and  the  silent  music  of  the  curving 
traceries  in  stone,  nor  the  many-colored  stories  on  the 
painted  windows  through  which  the  sun  at  high-noon  steals 
gently  in  as  though  his  light  should  not  disturb  the  solemn 
service  of  the  hour ;  these  are  not  the  elements  that  form 
the  sense  of  holiness  that  fills  the  place.  Without  doubt 
they  enter  into  it.  But  as  the  heart  clings  to  childhood's 


A    SABBATH  IN  CAMBRIDGE,   ENGLAND.      181 

home  and  haunts,  and  every  year  makes  stronger  the  ties 
that  bind  us  to  the  scenes  we  loved,  so  the  old  church,  the 
place  where  our  fathers  and  theirs  worshipped,  is  dearer  to 
us  than  the  more  splendid  house  that  our  new  neighbors 
have  reared.  Such  an  ancient  cathedral  as  this  is  written  all 
over,  within  and  without,  with  the  prayers  and  tears,  and 
songs  and  glory,  of  successive  centuries,  and  every  column, 
every  stone,  is  full  of  the  presence  of  Him  who  has,  in  all 
these  revolving  years,  made  this  house  his  dwelling-place. 
The  floor  of  the  choir  is  laid  in  curiously-colored  tiles,  and 
at  my  feet  Saint  Ambrose  is  singing  his  own  Te  Deum,  and 
the  twelve  apostles,  in  the  same  quaint  style,  make  a  sacred 
circle,  over  which  we  step :  but  I  forget  all  that  the  art  of 
man,  rude  or  skilled,  ancient  or  modern,  has  wrought  to 
adorn  and  illustrate  the  place.  These  are  human,  and, 
whatever  uses  they  have  are  lost  when  I  remember  that  the 
things  seen  are  temporal,  but  the  unseen — the  soul-work  on 
this  cold  floor  and  under  this  groined  roof — the  unseen  soul- 
work  is  eternal — here,  through  these  long  centuries,  men 
and  women,  such  as  we  are,  have  been  fighting  the  battle  of 
an  endless  life. 

This  invests  Chester  Cathedral  with  its  majestic  power, 
and  makes  one  day  within  its  sacred  courts  better  than  a 
thousand  elsewhere. 


A  SABBATH  IN  CAMBRIDGE,  ENGLAND. 

From  early  childhood,  when  I  was  a  boy  in  Cambridge, 
N.  Y.,  I  had  such  associations  with  Cambridge,  in  England, 
and  its  famous  University,  as  to  inspire  the  strong  desire  to 
see  the  place  and  its  venerable  seats  of  learning.  There  Sir 
Isaac  Newton  studied,  and  Milton  and  Bacon ;  and  no  other 
names  but  Shakespeare's  have  equal  lustre  in  the  firmament 
of  English  letters.  I  had  been  at  Oxford  in  former  visits  to 
England,  but  had  not  been  able  to  go  to  Cambridge,  for  it 
is  not  on  the  line  of  usual  travel,  and  is  therefore  less  visited 
by  tourists. 


1 82  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

It  is  less  than  two  hours  from  London.  The  road  is 
through  a  region  of  great  beauty,  passing  the  seat  of  Sir 
Culling  Eardley,  and  Earl  Cowper's  at  Hatfield,  Brompton 
Park,  Welwyn,  where  Young  wrote  his  "  Night  Thoughts," 
and  where  he  is  buried,  and  many  spots  celebrated  in  Eng 
lish  history.  We  left  London  at  5  o'clock  on  Saturday  eve 
ning:  London  crowded  with  life:  London  the  largest,  migh 
tiest,  richest,  busiest,  most  surging,  restless,  tumultuous 
city  in  the  world  :  the  city  that  overpowers  you  more  than 
any  other  with  a  sense  of  its  greatness  and  importance,  and 
from  which  you  escape  with  a  sense  of  relief,  as  if  you  could 
breathe  more  freely  and  feel  that  you  are  somebody  and  not 
merely  a  mote  in  the  boundless  air.  As  we  rode  out  of  this 
great  city,  toward  the  close  of  one  of  the  loveliest  days  in 
June,  and  instantly  were  ushered  into  the  beautiful  scenery 
of  rural  England — and  that  is  the  same  as  saying  into  the 
sweetest  in  all  Europe — we  were  charmed  every  moment  as 
we  fairly  flew  over  the  fifty  miles. 

In  the  midst  of  the  colleges  and  churches — for  they  are 
clustered  closely — stands  an  ancient  hotel  that  bears  the 
name  of  BULL — the  Bull  Hotel.  It  is  a  marvel  of  rare  taste 
and  elegance,  the  landlord  being  a  virtuoso,  rejoicing  in  old 
china,  curious  furniture,  and  exquisite  prints  and  paintings, 
with  which  he  has  filled  his  rooms,  and  made  them  a  museum 
of  art,  while  his  wife  manages  the  establishment  and  makes 
it  a  delightful  home  for  the  traveller.  Here  we  rested  over 
the  Sabbath.  It  became  a  day  of  days.  We  might  well  call 
it  a  red-letter  day,  for  it  was  known  in  the  University  year  as 
"  Scarlet  Day,"  when  the  heads  of  the  colleges  attend  divine 
service  in  scarlet  gowns,  making  a  picturesque  appearance. 

Cambridge  is  not  so  imposing  in  the  grandeur  of  its  old 
halls  as  Oxford:  there  the  very  smoke  and  grime  of  ages  seem 
to  cover  the  outer  walls  with  the  marks  of  antiquity.  The 
grounds  in  the  midst  of  the  twenty  colleges  of  Oxford  are 
more  highly  ornamented  with  flowers  than  these,  and  alto 
gether  there  is  more  culture  in  the  walks  and- probably  more 
books  in 'the  libraries,  as  there  are  more  students  in  the 
halls.  But  Cambridge  is  the  most  classical,  most  like  a 


A    SABBATH  IN  CAMBRIDGE,    ENGLAND.      183 

University  town ;  its  college  grounds  are  more  extensive 
than  those  of  Oxford,  and  nature  has  done  so  much  for  them, 
that  little  is  required  of  art.  It  takes  its  name  from  the 
river  Cam  on  which  it  stands.  It  is  old  enough  to  have  been 
burned  by  the  Danes  in  871,  and  to  have  been  rebuilt  and  to 
have  a  castle  reared  by  William  the  Conqueror,  a  bit  of  which 
is  yet  in  the  midst  of  it.  The  University  has  not  kept  its 
own  history,  and,  with  all  its  learning,  cannot  tell  when  it 
began  to  be.  Six  hundred  years  ago,  according  to  Hallam, 
it  was  incorporated,  and  one  college  after  another  has  been 
founded,  until  there  are  now  seventeen  :  they  unitedly  own 
the  great  library,  the  press,  the  observatory,  and  such  insti 
tutions  as  are  of  common  importance,  but  each  college  has 
its  own  funds,  with  which  it  is  endowed,  its  own  students, 
professors,  and  fellows.  The  oldest  of  these  colleges  is 
St.  Peter's,  founded,  it  is  said,  in  1257,  and  the  stained  glass 
windows  of  its  chapel  rival  those  of  the  Cologne  Cathedral. 
Caius  College  gave  Jeremy  Taylor  his  education.  King's 
College  has  a  chapel  that  is  the  chief  architectural  glory  of 
the  city.  As  I  stood  in  front  of  it  in  the  evening,  with  the 
new  moon  hanging  above  its  two  towers,  it  seemed  to  me 
more  beautifully  sublime  than  any  building  I  had  seen  in 
England.  In  the  garden  of  Christ  College  is  a  mulberry  tree 
which  John  Milton  planted  when  a  student  here.  Erasmus 
was  one  of  its  professors.  Samuel  Pepys  gave  his  great 
library  to  Magdalen  College,  his  alma  mater.  Trinity  is  the 
greatest  college  of  all,  and  sometimes  has  one-third  of  all  the 
students  in  the  University.  Henry  VIII.,  the  much-married 
monarch,  was  its  founder.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  educated 
in  it,  and  became  one  of  its  professors,  and  his  statue  adorns 
it  now.  Lord  Byron's  statue,  very  properly  refused  admis 
sion  into  Westminster  Abbey,  found  hospitality  here,  where 
he  was  a  student.  It  has  raised  more  Church  dignitaries 
than  any  other  college  here  or  at  Oxford.  And  its  eminent 
graduates  in  Church  and  State  are  to  be  counted  by  hun 
dreds  and  thousands.  Its  quadrangles  are  surrounded  by 
massive  piles  of  buildings,  with  rooms  for  students,  apart 
ments  for  resident  fellows  and  the  faculties  ;  a  city  of  learn- 


184  I  RE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

ing:  a  holy  quiet  filled  the  courts:  it  was  an  abode  of 
thought,  inviting  to  patient  study,  and  that  calm  enjoyment 
which  the  true  scholar  loves.  In  the  rear  of  the  colleges,  on 
the  banks  of  the  narrow  river,  are  delightful  walks,  shaded 
by  great  trees,  and  into  these  walks  all  the  college  grounds 
open,  so  that  the  students  are  tempted  to  exercise  in  the 
open  air.  There  are  always  between  two  and  three  thousand 
young  men  in  the  pursuit  of  education  here,  and  to  all 
appearances  they  have  every  appliance  for  the  pursuit  of 
health  at  the  same  time.  The  resident  fellows  have  their 
lodgings  and  board  and  a  regular  annuity,  which  they  have 
attained  by  successful  competition  in  scholarship.  So  long 
as  they  remain  unmarried,  they  retain  this  fellowship  with 
its  emoluments.  I  asked  a  janitor  if  they  were  not  allowed 
to  have  a  mother  or  aunt  to  reside  with  them.  "  Nothing  in 
the  shape  of  a  woman,"  was  the  very  decided  answer. 

A  lovelier  summer  Sabbath  day  cannot  be  in  this  world, 
than  the  one  we  had  in  Cambridge.  As  the  hour  for  morn 
ing  service  approached,  the  chimes  of  bells  in  many  an 
ancient  tower  began  their  matin  melodies,  and  filled  the  air 
with  their  holy  song.  The  city  seemed  full  of  praise.  And 
at  eventide  again  they  gave  out  their  soft  and  sacred  tones, 
not  with  the  harsh  jingling  and  hoarse  discord  of  rival  bells, 
but  in  unison  and  as  if  they  were  the  voice  of  many  people 
worshipping  the  Unseen.  And  from  all  the  churches  and 
from  many  chapels  the  voice  of  Christian  song  poured  forth 
upon  the  ears  even  of  those  who  walked  the  streets,  and  it 
was  in  groof  that  the  people  were  the  Lord's.  I  worshipped 
in  the  morning  at  St.  Benedict's,  and  there  heard  a  spiritual 
and  earnest  sermon,  every  word  of  which  was  fitted  to  do 
them  good  who  heard  it.  In  the  afternoon  the  annual  Uni 
versity  sermon  was  preached  by  Dr.  Guillemard,  of  Pem 
broke  College,  in  the  Church  of  St.  Mary.  The  attendance 
was  immensely  small :  certainly  there  were  not  two  hundred 
people  in  a  house  that  would  seat  a  thousand.  The  church 
service  was  not  read,  but,  in  its  place,  the  preacher  made 
what  is  called  the  Bidding  Prayer.  He  said :  "  Let  us  pray 
for  the  Queen,  the  Royal  Family,  the  Bishop,  Clergy,  the 


A    SABBATH  IN  CAMBRIDGE,    ENGLAND.      185 

University,"  and  so  on,  naming  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
persons,  and  then  prayed  for  them  all  at  once,  by  saying  the 
Lord's  prayer.  This  is  the  custom  here  and  at  Oxford  on 
the  occasion  of  this  sermon.  The  appointment  to  preach  is 
given  to  the  several  colleges  in  turn,  and  is  considered  an 
honor  to  the  preacher  selected,  who  prepares  himself  with 
great  diligence.  The  sermon  now  delivered  was  on  the 
believer  being  "  baptized  into  the  death  of  Christ,"  and  the 
learned  Doctor  stated  incidentally  that  in  the  primitive  times 
Christian  baptism  was  performed  by  dipping  the  head  under 
water,  in  the  case  of  infants  and  adults.  His  language  in 
regard  to  the  efficacy  of  the  sacrament  was  the  same  as  that 
used  in  the  Church  of  England,  indicating  the  doctrine  of 
regeneration  therein.  Otherwise  the  discourse  was  evangel 
ical  and  very  discriminating  against  rationalism.  He  held 
that  the  University  was  founded  for  the  support  of  Chris 
tianity,  and  that  its  power  should  be  felt  in  all  its  relations, 
in  the  defence  and  advancement  of  the  truth  of  the  gospel. 
He  quoted  from  the  New  Testament  in  Greek,  again  and 
again,  and  his  pronunciation  of  that  language  was  the  Cam 
bridge  style  :  thus  the  diphthong  oil  he  pronounced  as  we  do 
in  our  or  out;  he  did  not  say  oo  as  some  of  our  colleges, 
making  the  word  tooto  instead  of  touto.  In  a  word,  he  pro 
nounced  the  Greek  language  as  the  boys  were  taught  to  pro 
nounce  it  in  the  academy  at  Cambridge,  N.  Y.,  when  the 
undersigned  was  there. 

This  day  at  Cambridge  was  very  suggestive  of  lessons  for 
the  improvement  of  our  own  college  system,  in  a  country 
young  indeed,  but  already  able  to  do  far  more  for  its  colleges 
than  it  yet  attempts  in  the  way  of  culture  out  of  doors  and 
in.  It  takes  time  to  do  many  of  the  things  that  render 
these  grounds  and  halls  so  lovely  and  so  sublime.  And 
every  year  is  precious.  It  requires  aesthetic  tastes,  and  in 
our  practical  country  and  age,  even  men  of  education  under 
value  the  ideal,  and  despise  those  embellishments  that  ad 
dress  only  the  sense  of  the  beautiful.  It  is  a  pity,  and  the 
pity  is,  it's  true.  Let  us  hope  the  time  is  at  hand  when  we 
will  do  better. 


1 86  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 


A  MONASTERY  AND  CONVENT. 

It  was  never  well  to  put  a  monastery  and  a  convent  near 
together.  One  is  for  monks,  the  other  for  nuns.  God  said 
it  was  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  and  he  made  woman  to 
be  his  wife,  his  lawful  companion,  the  solace  and  help  of  his 
life.  But  he  never  made  nuns  for  monks.  Neither  monas 
teries  nor  convents  are  among  the  divine  institutions.  He 
did  ordain  families,  but  the  whole  conventual  system  of 
the  Church  of  Rome  has  been  a  war  upon  the  divine  econo 
my,  an  outrage  upon  the  human  race,  and  a  hot-bed  of  the 
foulest  crimes,  of  which  murder  is  not  the  worst. 

In  the  lovely  valley  and  village  of  Interlaken,  the  fairest 
spot  in  all  Switzerland,  at  the  foot  of  the  Jungfrau — the 
Maiden — ever  clad  in  robes  of  snow,  is  a  long,  rambling,  tur- 
reted  building  of  stone,  with  a  history  so  romantic  and 
ancient,  that  its  present  peaceful,  pious,  and  proper  uses 
make  the  story  almost  incredible.  This  house  was  once  a 
monastery  and  a  convent :  not  both  in  one  precisely ;  but  a 
thin  partition  only  separated  the  two,  while  an  underground 
passage  made  them  easily  one.  And  such  was  the  corrup 
tion  of  morals  which  was  the  ready  consequence  of  such 
association  of  men  and  women  under  vows  of  celibacy,  that 
long  before  Luther's  Reformation  began,  this  den  of  iniquity 
was  broken  up,  and  in  our  better  days  the  building  presents 
a  livelier  illustration  of  Christian  union  than  any  other  house 
of  which  we  have  ever  heard,  in  any  country  in  the  world. 
Yesterday  I  worshipped  God  in  it  with  a  congregation  of 
Scotch  Presbyterians  :  while  from  another  chapel  in  it  came 
the  songs  of  an  English  Episcopalian  church  service:  a 
Swiss-French  Evangelical  church  holds  its  service  also  under 
the  same  roof,  and  the  Roman  Catholics  celebrate  mass  and 
have  their  regular  and  daily  service  in  the  principal  chapel 
of  this  venerable  pile.  The  edifice  belongs  to  the  govern 
ment,  which  uses  many  of  the  apartments  for  public  offices : 
the  wings  are  well-arranged  hospitals,  and  the  battlemented 
towers  surmount  the  church,  which  is  appropriated  to  such 


A    MONASTERY  AND   CONVENT.  187 

congregations  as  wish  to  have  worship  in  it  in  their  own 
way. 

The  monastery  was  founded  about  the  year  1130,  more 
than  seven  hundred  years  ago,  for  the  use  of  fifty  monks  of 
the  Order  of  St.  Augustine,  and  was  most  unfittingly  dedi 
cated  to  the  Holy  Virgin.  For  they  had  not  long  been 
resident  in  this  sunny  and  charming  valley,  the  very  spot  for 
luxurious  and  idle  life,  than  these  self-denying  monks  procured 
the  establishment,  within  their  walled  enclosure,  of  a  nunnery, 
over  which  an  abbess  nominally  presided,  but  with  the  pro 
vision  that  the  provost  of  the  monastery  was  also  to  be  the 
superintendent  of  the  nunnery.  At  first  the  number  of  nuns 
was  limited  to  forty,  but  the  number  was  gradually  increased 
until  it  included  more  than  three  hundred.  The  nuns  were 
admitted  to  the  Order  of  St.  Augustine,  by  an  easy  modifica 
tion  of  the  rules.  So  the  monks  and  the  nuns  became  sub 
stantially  one  order,  and  living  within  the  same  enclosure, 
and  exempt  from  all  intrusion  or  control,  they  had  things 
their  own  way  for  a  series  of  centuries.  To  what  extremities 
of  evil  such  an  institution,  in  such  a  series  of  years,  would 
grow,  it  is  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to  portray  with  a 
modest  pen.  The  monastery  was  by-and-by  placed  by  the 
Pope  of  the  period  under  the  protection  of  the  Empire,  and 
afterwards  it  was  given  to  the  city  of  Berne,  with  exemption 
from  all  taxes  and  endowed  with  great  revenues.  The  lands 
that  paid  tribute  to  the  monastery  were  farmed  by  the 
peasantry,  and  they  resented  the  hard  taxes  they  were  com 
pelled  to  pay.  This  brought  on  wars,  in  which  the  valleys  of 
the  Grindelwald,  Lauterbrunnen,  and  Interlaken  were  made 
red  with  the  blood  of  a  people  resisting  unto  death  the 
grinding  exactions  of  these  pampered  and  dissolute  monks, 
who  had  the  law  and  government  on  their  side.  These  anti- 
rent  wars  were  fearfully  bloody  and  cruel,  and  always  ended 
in  the  triumph  of  the  monks  and  the  temporary  submission 
of  the  peasants. 

Vast  as  the  income  of  the  monastery  was,  the  prodigality 
of  these  rapacious  and  luxurious  monks  was  so  great  that 
they  were  always  living  beyond  their  revenue,  and  incurring 


1 88  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

heavy  debts.  They  spent  the  money  in  riotous  living,  until 
the  scandal  of  their  lives  became  an  offence  to  the  Church 
and  the  State,  in  a  period  when  morals  were  low  enough  in 
both,  and  neither  was  very  fastidious.  It  was  said  that  more 
children  were  born  in  the  nunnery  than  in  the  whole  valley 
around  it.  None  of  them,  however,  lived.  Twice  the  divi 
sion  wall  had  been  destroyed  by  fire  in  consequence  of  the 
revels  to  which  the  inmates  abandoned  themselves.  Offi 
cial  visitations  were  made,  but  so  powerful  had  the  order 
become,  that  it  easily  defied  the  authority  of  a  distant 
Bishop.  Then  the  civil  government  took  hold  of  it,  and 
reported  the  terrible  state  of  things  to  the  Court  of  Rome, 
and  the  Pope  issued  a  Bull  telling  the  naughty  monks  to 
behave  themselves  better.  They  said  they  would,  but  they 
did  not.  And  at  last,  in  1484,  the  Pope  took  all  the  nuns 
away,  and  made  over  the  revenues  of  the  convent  to  a  sister 
institution  at  Berne.  There  a  few  of  them  went,  and  some 
found  husbands  to  console  them  when  they  were  compelled 
to  quit  the  monks. 

But  the  monks  were  not  disposed  to  give  it  up  so.  They 
introduced  into  their  order  a  system  of  concubinage,  with 
more  shameful  proceedings  than  ever.  In  1527,  the  monas 
tery  of  Interlaken — this  beautiful  vale — was  like  Sodom  for 
wickedness,  and  deserved  the  doom  of  the  cities  of  the 
plain.  The  house  became  the  seat  of  riot  and  disorder,  and 
so  great  was  the  scandal  that  the  government  was  con 
strained  to  interfere  and  break  up  the  establishment.  The 
monks  were  driven  out,  being  allowed  pensions  for  life,  but 
they  did  not  concentrate  themselves  again,  and  the  places 
that  knew  them  once,  knew  them  no  more. 

The  ancient  walls,  the  halls  that  resounded  with  their  un 
godly  revelry,  the  nests  of  their  foul  debauchery,  are  still 
here,  and  the  beautiful  sunlight  shines  in  upon  them  as  if 
nothing  but  purity  and  peace  could  ever  have  reigned  in 
these  hallowed  precincts.  A  decrepit  woman,  feeble  with 
disease  and  age,  was  sitting  on  a  bench  under  the  arched 
portal  as  I  entered,  and  out  of  the  windows  of  the  hospital, 
patients,  old  and  young,  were  looking ;  the  several  chapels 


A   MONASTERY  AND   CONVENT.  189 

were  designated  by  the  names  of  the  various  Churches  that 
now  gather  to  worship  God  under  these  ancient  roofs ;  happy 
children  with  their  nurses  were  playing  under  the  mighty 
trees  that  have  stood  for  centuries  in  the  grounds  about  the 
monastery,  and  I  could  not  but  lift  up  my  heart,  and  my 
voice  too,  in  a  devout  "thank  God,"  that  this  fair  spot,  so 
sweet,  so  cool,  so  near  to  the  snow-white  mountains,  yet 
adorned  with  meadows  green  and  flowers,  is  not  now,  as  it 
was  once,  denied  with  the  abominations  of  a  monastery  and 
a  convent.  Either  of  them  is  evil,  and  only  evil.  United 
they  make  even  this  paradise  a  whited  sepulchre,  full  of  all 
uncleanness.  But  instead  of  preaching  a  warning  against 
the  whole  monastic  system,  always  corrupt  and  corrupting, 
and  against  "sisterhoods,"  always  evil,  and  never  expedient 
in  Protestant  hospitals  or  schools,  let  me  tell  you  a  little 
story  that  this  monastery  suggests. 

In  a  few  minutes'  walk  from  Interlaken  we  come  to  the 
ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Unspunnen,  the  ideal  residence  of  By 
ron's  Manfred,  and  the  scene  of  romantic  incidents  sufficient 
to  form  a  chapter  of  themselves.  In  the  latter  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  when  the  dissoluteness  of  the  monastery  of 
Interlaken  was  at  its  height,  the  lord  of  Unspunnen  sought 
to  constrain  his  sister  to  take  the  veil  at  the  convent.  The 
brother  would  thus  get  half  of  her  fortune,  and  the  convent 
the  rest.  But  the  noble  woman  knew  too  well  the  repute  of 
the  institution,  and  scorned  to  become  a  member  of  such  a 
sisterhood.  Yet  such  a  pressure  was  brought  to  bear  upon 
her,  that  she  was  led  to  the  altar  where  she  was  to  take  the 
vow,  when,  perceiving  a  remarkably  handsome  young  man 
among  the  spectators,  she  remembered  the  law  of  the  land 
which  permitted  the  means  of  escape  that  she  now  embraced. 
She  turned  to  him  and  offered  him  her  hand  in  marriage. 
He  had  long  looked  on  her  with  yearning  heart,  and  was 
swift  to  accept  the  offer.  They  were  married  without  delay, 
and  the  lovely  maiden,  Elizabeth  of  Scharnachtul,  now  the 
happy  bride  of  Thomas  Guntschi,  of  Matten,  was  saved  from 
the  rascally  monks.  Their  descendants  still  live  in  the 
Oberland. 


190  IRENMUS  LETTERS, 


CASTLE  OF   UNSPUNNEN. 

Only  a  round  tower  remains  to  mark  the  site  and  tell  the 
story  of  the  Castle  of  Unspunnen.  Yes,  there  is  a  pit  that 
is  the  vestige  of  the  donjon  keep,  in  which  fifty  brave  and 
good  men  languished  four  years,  and  were  at  last  delivered 
from  a  lingering  death. 

This  castle,  or  what  remains  of  it,  stands  near  Interlaken 
in  Switzerland,  and  commands  the  entrance  to  the  valleys  of 
Grindelwald  and  Lauterbrunnen.  For  centuries — and  this 
was  centuries  ago — it  was  the  most  famous  and  formidable 
stronghold  in  this  wild  country,  and  history  and  tradition 
tell  many  and  fearful  tales  of  violence,  rapine,  blood,  and  of 
love  also,  about  the  lords  and  the  vassals  that  made  this  cas 
tle  their  fortress  in  the  days  of  old.  But  neither  history  nor 
tradition  goes  back  to  the  date  of  its  erection,  though  the 
site  of  it  and  the  use  of  it  plainly  enough  indicate  the  object 
of  its  founder.  As  I  have  been  travelling  through  the  Swiss 
valleys  and  narrow  defiles,  and  over  the  high  ways  that 
divide  or  connect  them,  I  see  that,  in  times  when  might  was 
the  rule  of  right,  and  violence  reigned  in  these  regions, 
these  valleys  would  be  independent  of  each  other  and  often 
in  conflict  for  the  supremacy.  Raids  would  be  made  by 
robbers  to  carry  off  flocks  and  herds.  The  lord  of  the 
manor  would  become  a  chieftain,  and  the  peasants  his 
retainers  to  follow  him  into  the  domains  of  his  neighbors, 
or  to  meet,  with  fire  and  sword,  his  enemies. 

In  the  tenth  century,  the  Dukes  of  Zahringen  were  the 
lieutenants  of  the  Emperor,  claiming  sovereignty  over  the 
whole  of  this  country,  but  the  head  men  of  the  Swiss  valleys, 
strong  in  their  men  and  wealth,  resisted  the  supreme  author 
ity  and  fought  for  independence.  The  dukes  founded  some 
of  the  finest  cities  of  Switzerland,  and  the  Zahringen  hotel 
in  Frieburg,  where  we  paused  to  hear  its  wonderful  organ, 
is  named  after  the  founder  of  the  city.  He  built  the  castle 
of  Thun  in  1182,  and  began  the  city  of  Bern  in  1191. 

The  lords  of  Unspunnen  waxed   mighty  in  those  days, 


CASTLE   OF   UNSPUNNEN.  19! 

and  many  of  these  fertile  vales  and  rugged  mountains  were 
under  their  control,  the  peasants  paying  taxes  to  them,  and 
every  district  furnishing  warriors  to  fight  the  battles  of  the 
barons.  Berthold  was  the  Duke  of  Zahringen,  and  Burkard 
was  the  Baron  of  Unspunnen.  Deadly  foes  they  were,  and 
many  were  the  fierce  fights  they  had,  when,  with  wild  war 
riors  at  their  heels,  they  had  laid  waste  each  other's  lands, 
spreading  desolation  in  their  track.  As  we  read  the  details 
of  those  days  of  rapine,  we  see  that  war  then  was  very  like 
what  is  going  on  to-day  in  the  East. 

Burkard  of  Unspunnen  had  no  son  to  succeed  him,  but  he 
rejoiced  in  a  daughter,  his  only  daughter,  Ida,  whom  he 
loved,  the  child  of  his  old  age.  Her  mother  was  dead.  The 
old  warrior  was  weary  of  strife  and  found  his  only  comfort 
in  his  daughter,  the  joy  of  his  heart.  She  was  remarkable 
for  virtue  and  beauty,  being  known  over  the  valleys  for  her 
charities,  and  renowned  far  and  wide  for  the  elegance  of  her 
person  and  her  manners.  The  vassals  of  her  father  spoke  of 
her  as  the  "  fair  lady  of  the  castle,"  and  were  so  devoted  to 
her  that  every  one  of  them  would  cheerfully  have  laid  down 
his  life  in  defence  of  her  rights  and  her  honor.  Now  it  came 
to  pass  that,  on  a  time  when  the  lords  and  ladies  of  all  the 
lands  were  gathered  at  a  tournament,  and  knights,  who  in 
battle  were  foes,  now  met  as  friends  for  friendly  contest,  a 
certain  brave  and  gallant  knight,  Rodolph  of  Wadiswyl,  saw 
the  "fair  lady  of  the  castle"  of  Unspunnen,  the  beautiful  Ida, 
and  was  at  once  smitten  to  the  heart.  When  he  learned 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  his  master's  mortal  foe,  for 
Rodolph  was  a  follower  and  kinsman  of  Berthold,  he  knew 
that  it  was  in  vain  for  him  to  make  known  his  passion,  and 
he  resolved  to  woo  her  in  the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  in  a 
way  not  altogether  unknown  at  this  day  in  some  parts  of  the 
world.  He  nursed  the  flame  in  his  own  bosom,  drew  around 
him  a  few  trusty  and  valiant  friends,  of  courage  and  prowess 
like  his  own,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  that  their 
approach  might  not  be  discovered,  they  pursued  their  secret 
march  from  Berne,  by  the  way  of  the  Lake  Thun,  and  across 
the  southern  side  of  the  plain  of  Interlaken.  They  were 


192  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

now  in  the  enemy's  country.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  con 
ceal  themselves  in  the  mountain  forests,  until  a  night  of 
darkness  and  storm  made  it  favorable  for  them  to  steal 
unperceived  upon  the  castle.  They  scaled  its  walls.  They 
found  the  lovely  Ida,  and  with  gentle  violence  carried  her 
off  to  Berne.  She  did  not  find  her  captor  such  a  monster  as 
his  wooing  promised,  but  like  the  Sabine  women,  she  soon 
learned  to  love  the  gallant  knight,  and  became  his  willing 
and  devoted  wife. 

But  when  the  old  father,  the  Baron  Burkard,  knew  the 
wrong  that  had  been  done  him,  and  who  it  was  that  had 
done  it,  the  youthful  fires  broke  out  in  his  aged  frame,  and 
he  roused  his  vassals  to  fresh  fields  of  bloody  war,  to  recover 
his  daughter  and  punish  the  robbers.  The  war  was  one  of  the 
fiercest  of  those  fierce  times,  and  both  parties  were  exhausted. 
The  Duke  of  Zahringen  was  the  first  to  give  in,  and  he 
resolved  to  try  the  power  of  conciliation  and  moral  suasion. 
He  went  to  the  Castle  of  Unspunnen  in  peace,  and  present 
ing  himself  to  old  Burkard,  found  him  weeping  for  the  loss 
of  his  daughter  and  longing  for  her  return.  The  Duke 
offered  his  hand  to  the  Baron,  who  took  it  cheerfully,  and  at 
that  moment  the  daughter  and  her  husband,  with  their  hand 
some  boy,  entered  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  weeping  old 
man.  He  was  overjoyed  to  see  them,  and  making  his  grand 
son  the  heir  of  his  possessions,  he  died  the  last  of  the  barons. 
Walter,  the  grandson,  succeeded  to  the  leadership,  peace  was 
made  with  the  dukes,  and  the  castle,  in  the  course  of  time, 
fell  into  the  hands  of  John,  Baron  of  Weissenberg.  He  fell 
out  with  the  duke  who  had  plundered  his  estates  in  those 
beautiful  valleys  of  the  Simmenthal,  which  we  rode  through 
the  other  day.  The  duke  raised  an  army  and  attempted  to 
surprise  Lord  John  in  his  Unspunnen  fortress,  but  John  was 
too  wary  for  him,  and  routed  him  with  great  slaughter. 
Fifty  men  were  taken  prisoners,  and  cast  into  the  dungeon 
of  the  castle,  where  they  were  kept  as  prisoners  in  wretched 
ness  too  well  known  by  their  friends  outside,  to  suffer  them 
to  be  forgotten.  Four  years  passed  by,  and  all  attempts  to 
rescue  them  failing,  a  regular  siege  was  laid  and  pushed  on 


GOING   TO  A    GLACIER.  193 

Vvith  such  vigor  that  the  proud  baron  was  reduced  to  terms, 
and  was  compelled  to  give  liberty  to  these  captives.  The 
subsequent  history  of  the  castle  is  not  of  any  special  interest. 
Five  hundred  years  ago  the  monastery  of  Interlaken,  whose 
disgusting  history  was  written  in  the  last  letter,  held  a  mort 
gage  on  the  property,  and  it  continued  to  change  hands  until 
it  finally  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  city  of  Berne,  and  then 
into  those  of  Interlaken.  But  it  gradually  lost  its  import 
ance  as  the  lands  became  the  property  of  the  peasants,  and 
the  castle  fell  into  decay.  In  modern  times  attention  has 
been  drawn  to  it,  and  a  fictitious  interest  attached  to  it,  by 
the  fact  that  Lord  Byron  is  supposed  to  have  adopted  it  as 
the  site  of  the  residence  of  Manfred,  the  misanthropic  hero 
of  the  tragedy  of  that  name.  The  scenery  of  the  region 
depicted  by  the  poet  corresponds  well  enough  with  this,  and 
it  is  also  stated  that  Byron  wrote  a  part  at  least  of  that  pro 
duction  on  the  Wengern  Alp,  which  is  close  by,  and  on  the 
route  from  Lauterbrunnen  to  Grindelwald.  This  is  the  best 
pass  in  Switzerland  to  see  the  avalanches,  and  glaciers  are 
near  at  hand :  the  roar  of  torrents,  the  crash  of  falling  oceans 
of  snow  and  ice,  the  mist  and  clouds  and  cold,  make  the 
region  a  fit  place  for  the  melancholy  ravings  of  a  morbid 
poet. 


GOING  TO  A  GLACIER. 

The  grandest  of  all  the  Swiss  glaciers  takes  its  name  from 
the  Rhone,  the  river  that  is  born  beneath  it,  and  then  flows 
on  five  hundred  miles  into  the  sea.  When  I  was  at  the 
Rhone  Glacier  twenty  years  ago,  we  could  reach  it  only  on 
foot  or  on  mules,  and  the  bridle-path  brought  us  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  glacier,  where  we  stood  and  looked  up  and  away 
to  the  distant  heights,  where  its  turrets  and  towers  glistened 
in  the  sun,  reminding  me  of  the  lines : 

"  The  City  of  my  God  I  see 

Above  the  firmament  afar ; 

Its  every  dome  a  noonday  sun, 

And  every  pinnacle  a  star." 


1 94  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

But  now,  by  the  new  road,  the  most  formidable  piece  of 
engineering  in  the  country,  we  come  in  a  carriage  to  the 
same  level  with  these,  icy  palaces,  and  look  into  their  portals, 
and  go  round  about  their  bulwarks,  and  survey  without 
danger  or  fatigue  this  marvellous  spectacle.  With  the  sun 
blazing  upon  it,  and  on  the  uncounted  peaks  of  mountains 
rising  around  it,  the  sight  easily  surpasses  in  beauty  and  sub 
limity  any  other  scene  in  Switzerland. 

We  left  Lucerne  at  8  A.  M.,  on  one  of  the  lake  steamers 
The  Rigi  was  without  a  cap,  and  Pilatus  had  on  caps  enough 
for  both.  It  was  long  supposed  that  poor  Pontius  Pilate 
came  to  a  sad  end  on  this  mountain,  and  that  his  troubled 
spirit  still  haunts  it  with  tempest  and  lightnings.  The  story 
is  not  now  so  generally  believed,  but  the  storms  and  vapors 
continue  just  the  same.  And  the  Lake  of  the  Four  Cantons 
is  as  lovely  and  grand  and  classical  as  it  ever  was,  despite 
those  mousing  critics  who  would  prove  that  William  Tell  is 
a  myth.  The  mountains  about  this  lake  rise  so  suddenly 
from  its  waters,  the  passages  from  one  bay  to  another  are  so 
fortified  by  nature,  that  every  mile  of  the  lake  is  intensely 
interesting.  It  is  very  easy  to  believe  that  the  three  Swiss 
patriots  met,  in  the  dead  of  night,  on  that  sloping  ledge  to 
concert  measures  for  the  deliverance  of  their  country.  And 
their  full  length  portraits  on  the  wharf  at  Brunnen  show 
what  sort  of  heroes  they  were.  Tell's  chapel  tells  where  he 
leaped  from  the  boat  and  escaped  from  his  tyrant  Gessler, 
and  forty  natives  went  ashore  as  we  touched,  to  make  a  pil 
grimage  to  the  shrine. 

When  we  reached  Fluellen,  we  took  a  carriage  for  a  three 
days'  journey,  and  at  1 1  o'clock  were  on  our  way  to  the  hill- 
country.  Altorf  was  reached  in  a  few  minutes,  where  William 
Tell  shot  the  apple  on  his  boy's  head.  That  there  may  be 
no  doubt  about  it,  he  stands  in  a  rude  monument,  with  a 
cross-bow  in  his  hand,  and  a  frightful  picture  presents  the 
tragic  scene.  The  same  story  is  traditional  in  other  coun 
tries,  and  it  is  much  better  to  believe  in  two  or  even  three 
Tells  than  in  none  at  all. 

At  Amsteg,  ten  miles  farther  up,  we  endured  a  miserable 


GOING    TO  A    GLACIER.  195 

dinner;  we  were  promised  a  chicken,  but  it  was  more  like  a 
crow  that  had  died  of  famine.  Now  we  began  in  earnest  the 
ascent  of  the  St.  Gothard  pass  that  leads  over  the  Alps  into 
Italy.  It  is  a  splendid  road ;  by  the  river  Reusse,  that  comes 
roaring  and  tumbling  from  the  mysterious  heights  and  depths 
of  these  glaciers  and  fields  of  perpetual  snow.  As  we  ascend, 
we  find  the  beginnings  of  the  railroad  that  is  to  scale  these 
formidable  walls,  pierce  the  heart  of  rock,  and  come  out  on 
the  Italian  side.  A  whole  village  has  suddenly  sprung  up  of 
Italian  laborers  and  their  families,  at  work  in  the  tunnel. 
Not  a  bit  like  the  Swiss  were  these  black-eyed,  vivacious, 
rollicking  sons  of  the  sunny  side  of  the  Alps.  They  can 
work  but  two  or  three  hours  at  a  time  in  the  tunnel,  so  foul 
is  the  air  in  spite  of  the  pumps :  then  fresh  relays  of  men 
take  their  places ;  and  so  the  work  goes  on,  to  be  completed 
in  three  years,  nine  miles  through.  The  enterprise  and  bold 
ness  of  such  an  undertaking  has  no  parallel  in  any  railroad 
ventures  in  the  country  from  which  we  have  come. 

As  we  came  to  the  narrow  gorge  which  is  known  as  the 
Priest's  Leap,  from  the  fable  that  a  priest  once  leaped  across 
it  with  a  maid  in  his  arms,  five  or  six  young  natives,  each 
with  a  rock  on  his  or  her  shoulder,  suddenly  appeared,  and 
when  we  had  alighted  and  approached  the  verge,  they  let 
their  burdens  fall,  and  we  watched  them  till  they  reached  the 
water  in  the  abyss.  This  is  a  regular  entertainment  to  which 
all  travelers  are  invited,  and  the  little  money  the  droppers 
pick  up  goes  a  good  way  in  keeping  them  alive  to  amuse  the 
next  comers. 

The  Devil's  Bridge  is  the  most  frightful  scene  on  the  road, 
where  the  rush  of  waters  in  the  tortuous  and  rocky  channel 
is  so  terrible  that  weak  nerves  cannot  bear  the  sight  of  it. 
Yet  in  this  very  spot  the  Russians  and  French,  and  before 
that  the  Austrians  and  Swiss,  have  fought  bloody  battles, 
contending  for  this  mountain  pass,  as  at  this  moment  the 
Russians  and  Turks  are  struggling  for  the  Shipka  in  the 
East. 

We  passed  the  night  at  Andermatt,  and  in  the  morning 
resumed  our  upward  journey.  This  village  is  4,600  feet 


196  I  REN ;£.  US  LETTERS. 

above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Vegetation  is  scant :  pasturage 
is  poor,  the  inhabitants  are  few  and  far  between  on  the 
mountain  sides.  Hospenthal  is  at  the  fork  of  the  two  roads, 
one  over  the  St.  Gothard  into  Italy,  which  we  now  leave, 
and  the  other  over  the  Furka,  which  we  now  pursue.  The 
ancient  mule  and  foot-path  kept  the  ravine  through  which 
the  Reusse  comes  down,  but  the  engineers  of  the  carriage 
road,  why  it  is  not  easy  to  understand,  pushed  their  course 
along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  doubling  the  road  back  on 
itself,  with  long  loops,  and  fearfully  sharp  curves,  almost 
angles,  yet  making  the  ascent  so  gradual  that  the  carriage 
seems  to  be  nearly  on  a  level  as  we  go  up  the  steep.  Steady 
nerves  enjoy  the  toilsome  way.  From  the  edge  of  the  road, 
solid  and  smooth,  we  are  looking  beyond  the  precipices 
below  to  lofty  and  snow-clad  summits  of  unnumbered  moun 
tains,  some  of  them  wrapped  partly  in  robes  of  mist,  some 
of  them  tipped  and  gilded  with  sunlight,  all  of  them  cold, 
dreary,  desolate,  as  if  they  were  not  needed  in  the  world, 
and  were  here  stowed  away  by  themselves  in  solitary  gran 
deur  and  death-like  repose. 

Four  hours  and  a  half  of  this  uphill  work  brought  us  to 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  passing  over  it,  by  the  little 
inn  that  offers  hospitality  to  travellers,  we  descended  in  a 
few  minutes  to  the  level  of  the  most  glorious  section  of  the 
Glacier  of  the  Rhone. 

It  is  not  a  sea  of  ice;  it  is  a  mighty  torrent,  tossed  by  a 
tempest  into  the  most  fantastic  forms,  and  suddenly  con 
gealed  !  As  Coleridge  puts  it,  "  motionless  torrents,  silent 
cataracts."  Yet  even  this  is  not  the  fitting  simile  ;  for  from 
its  surface  tall  spires  of  clear,  shining  ice  spring  into  the  air: 
solid  shafts,  of  irregular  heights  and  shapes:  and  looking 
down  upon  it,  as  we  do  from  our  point  of  observation,  deep 
chasms,  long  ravines  yawn  before  us,  and  reveal  the  horrors 
of  an  ice  grave  for  those  who  venture  to  cross  this  danger 
ous  field.  One  large  section,  slightly  more  worn  by  the  sun 
and  rains  than  the  rest,  was  tinted  with  pink  and  blue,  and 
in  the  shadows,  cast  by  passing  clouds,  falling  on  some  of 
the  pinnacles,  and  the  others  being  in  the  bright  sunlight, 


THE   GREEN  VAULTS.  197 

showed  the  most  variegated,  rosy  and  greenish  hues.  Many 
of  the  columns  were  translucent,  and  of  exceeding  beauty. 
This  glacier  stretches  fifteen  miles  upward  between  the 
Gelmerhorn  and  Gertshorn,  and  exceeds  all  the  others  in 
the  grandeur  of  its  features  and  the  sublimity  of  its  sur 
roundings.  To  give  the  names  of  all  the  peaks  to  be  seen 
from  the  point  whence  we  are  studying  the  scene,  would  be 
like  reciting  the  geography  of  Switzerland,  so  many  and  so 
familiar  are  they. 

While  we  were  on  the  mountain,  we  observed  the  gather 
ing  of  clouds,  and  thought  it  might  rain  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  Our  visit  to  the  glacier  being  ended,  we  went  back  to 
the  Furka  inn  for  dinner.  Presently  the  mists  rose  from  the 
vale  and  enveloped  the  house  in  gloom.  Then  it  began  to 
thunder  and  lighten.  The  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  The 
winds  blew,  and  then  hailstones  came  rattling  upon  the  roof. 
It  was  almost  dark  at  mid-day.  When  it  held  up,  and  we 
had  made  a  short  dinner,  we  came  down  the  mountain.  It 
was  quite  another  thing  from  going  up.  The  sure-footed 
horses  trotted  squarely,  turned  the  sharp  corners  steadily, 
and  in  less  than  two  hours  brought  us  safely  to  Andermatt. 
The  next  morning,  a  fine  bright  day,  we  drove  down  the  St. 
Gothard  road,  to  the  boat  at  Fluellen,  and  were  soon  in  our 
rooms  at  Lucerne. 


THE  GREEN  VAULTS. 

They  are  called  so  because  they  are  not  vaults  and  are  not 
green.  In  other  respects  the  name  is  as  well  as  another 
would  be.  They  are  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  old 
palace  of  the  kings  of  Saxony,  in  the  city  of  Dresden,  filled 
with  curious  works  of  art,  jewels  of  silver  and  gold,  and 
precious  stones,  the  pride  and  play  of  kings  for  more  than 
three  hundred  years,  a  vast  museum,  the  like  of  which  is  not 
to  be  seen  elsewhere  in  Europe,  perhaps  not  in  the  world. 

The  morning  was  wet  and  dismal  when  we  emerged  from 


198  IREN^EUS  LETTERS 

our  hotel  and  crossed  the  square  to  the  SCHLOSS,  the  name 
usually  given  to  the  residence  of  the  king.  An  archway  was 
guarded  by  a  man-at-arms,  and  then  the  wide  quadrangle 
was  passed  in  the  dripping  rain,  and  reaching  a  small  door 
on  the  further  side,  we  paid  the  fee — one  mark — and  were 
admitted  into  the  vaults  ! 

Duke  George,  the  Bearded,  in  1539,  was  the  Prince  of 
Saxony — Elector  he  was  called  in  those  days — and  he  began 
to  collect  and  preserve  the  curious  things  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on,  and  his  successors  in  the  kingdom  have  added  to 
them  from  year  to  year.  Before  the  American  mines  were 
discovered,  before  America  was  discovered  by  Europeans, 
the  Freiberg  silver  mines  were  the  richest  in  the  world,  and 
the  kings  of  Saxony  were  wont  to  convert  the  fruits  of  those 
mines  into  works  of  art,  either  having  the  silver  itself 
worked  up  into  them,  or  exchanging  it  for  precious  stones. 
In  this  way  the  gold  mines  of  Spain  made  the  Royal  gallery 
of  paintings  in  Madrid  the  most  costly  and  extensive  in 
Europe,  while  Spain  is  now  miserably  poor.  The  pictures 
would  not  pay  her  debts,  and  there  is  no  market  just  now 
for  paintings  such  as  royal  purses  only  can  buy :  for  kings 
have  too  many  debts  on  hand  to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of 
buying  works  of  art.  One  of  these  rooms  contains  a  jewel 
estimated  to  be  worth  fifteen  millions  of  dollars  :  and  they 
all  have  an  intrinsic  value,  such  as  can  hardly  be  said  to 
attach  to  the  most  splendid  pictures  by  the  greatest  artists. 
A  diamond  is  more  easily  cared  for  and  is  less  liable  to 
perish  than  a  painting  or  a  statue,  and  there  is  an  impression 
that  precious  stones  become  more  costly  from  age  to  age. 
I  have  heard  it  stoutly  maintained  that  it  is  a  better  invest 
ment  to  buy  diamonds  than  real  estate  or  railroad  bonds. 
My  experience  is  not  large  enough  to  make  an  opinion  of 
any  value. 

John  of  Bologna  was  one  of  the  greatest  sculptors  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  some  of  his  works  in  bronze  are  the 
first  to  arrest  attention  as  you  enter  the  room.  A  crucifix 
only  eighteen  inches  in  height  shows  the  hand  of  the  master, 
and  the  uninstructed  eye  discovers  its  beauty.  "  The  Bull 


THE    GREEN  VAULTS.  199 

Farnese"  is  reproduced  in  bronze,  and  has  a  charm  that 
belongs  to  the  original  marble  in  Naples,  representing  the 
powerful  work  of  an  artist  who  lived  four  hundred  years 
before  the  Christian  era.  These  and  many  other  copies  of 
the  noblest  works  of  the  early  centuries  are  now  studied 
with  admiration,  even  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  the 
originals,  and  as  all  the  royal  collections  are  supplied  with 
copies  when  it  is  impossible  to  procure  the  originals,  why 
may  we  not  in  the  United  States,  and  especially  why  may 
not  the  city  of  New  York,  possess  a  gallery  in  which  shall  be 
collected  copies  of  the  greatest  works  in  all  the  European 
schools  of  ancient  and  modern  art  ? 

What  works  in  ivory  are  these  in  the  second  room  ?  Pyra 
mids,  goblets,  chains,  pillars,  groups  of  girls,  goddesses,  sea- 
gods  and  nymphs,  Apollo  and  the  muses,  allegories  that 
have  lessons  to  be  read  ! !  Even  the  cunning  hand  of  Albert 
Durer  is  seen  in  a  group  of  his  exquisite  carving :  and  an 
Ecce  Homo  ascribed  to  Benvenuto  Cellini :  a  monk  spent  his 
lifetime  on  a  group  of  141  figures  in  one  piece  of  ivory,  and 
here  his  patience,  if  not  his  genius,  appears  in  his  wondrously 
elaborated  work.  There  is  no  end  to  this  curiously  beautiful 
collection. 

Amber  wrought  into  shapes  innumerable,  corals,  shells, 
mosaics  of  jasper,  agate,  lapis-lazuli,  cornelian,  chalcedony, 
laid  in  black  marble,  in  forms  of  birds,  flowers,  insects,  fruits 
and  all  manner  of  pretty  things ;  the  Saviour  and  the 
Apostles ;  some  of  them  regarded  as  the  finest  specimens  of 
this  kind  of  work.  In  the  middle  of  this  room  is  a  porcelain 
fire-place,  ornamented  with  biscuit-china,  precious  stones, 
pebbles,  topazes,  moss  and  eye  agates,  and  Saxon  pearls, 
making  a  remarkable  object  that  gives  the  name  to  the  room 
in  which  it  stands.  The  art  of  painting  enamel  was  known 
to  the  ancients,  the  designs  being  painted  on  a  coating  of 
pigments  with  a  brush,  and  then  fixed  by  the  action  of  fire. 
The  French  have  carried  the  art  to  perfection,  having  pur 
sued  it  for  five  hundred  years.  This  is  the  simplest  of  the 
styles  of  enamelling.  The  Scripture  scenes,  the  mythology, 
the  portraits  of  modern  and  ancient  historical  personages, 


200  1RENMUS  LETTERS. 

the  madonnas,  are  beyond  my  capacity  to  recount  or  to 
remember,  but  each  one  of  them  is  a  study,  giving  pleasure 
while  the  eye  is  upon  it,  though  the  sensation  is  lost  so  soon 
as  you  turn  to  something  more  beautiful  beyond. 

If  you  are  not  weary  of  this  repetition  of  things  curious,  we 
will  pass  into  the  next  room,  which  is  painted  in  green,  and 
so  is  said  to  have  given  the  name  to  the  vaults.  It  is  called 
the  silver  room,  and  the  vessels  of  ornament  and  use  that 
are  here  gathered,  chiefly  in  silver,  would  easily  furnish  a 
palace,  from  the  baptismal  fonts  in  which  the  children  of  the 
royal  family  are  "christened,"  to  the  chalices  for  the  com 
munion  table  and  the  goblets  that  have  served  at  royal  ban 
quets  for  centuries.  The  Genoa  filigree  work  represents 
flowers  and  fruits  and  figures,  boxes  and  vases,  every  variety 
of  fancy  and  folly,  displaying  exceeding  ingenuity  in  con 
struction,  with  no  great  success  in  producing  anything  very 
useful  or  ornamental. 

And  we  are  not  yet  in  the  great  Hall — by  way  of  eminence 
it  is  called  "  the  Hall  of  Precious  Things," — so  far  does  its 
inventory  exceed  all  that  has  gone  before  it.  The  room 
stretches  the  width  of  the  palace,  and  is  literally  filled  with 
a  wealth  of  gems  and  gold  and  crystal,  wrought  into  objects 
of  use,  or  of  display,  or,  more  than  either,  of  amusement,  for 
it  is  hardly  possible  that  half  of  these  things  were  made  for 
anything  else  but  to  entertain  the  maker  or  them  for  whom 
they  were  made.  All  the  precious  stones  that  are  named  in 
the  "  Revelation,"  and  many  more,  have  been  wrought  into 
the  form  of  snuff  boxes,  spoons,  cups,  seals,  portraits  of 
emperors,  and  popes,  and  queens ;  a  "  tower  of  Babel"  has 
mysterious  machinery  in  it  that  works  a  clock  and  every 
minute  performs  some  marvel  of  ingenuity:  a  Venetian 
thread-glass  jug  having  an  air-bubble  between  each  of  the 
meshes :  a  dromedary  lying  by  the  side  of  a  Moor :  Venus 
carried  in  a  Sedan  chair  by  porters :  a  ship  on  which  the 
scene  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda  is  drawn  :  the  rock-crystal 
goblet  of  Martin  Luther— one  of  so  many  of  his  cups ;  I 
begin  to  fear  he  was  often  in  them  ;  and  the  goblets  of  so 
many  mighty  men  are  treasured  here,  we  may  be  sure  that 


THE  GREEN  VAULTS.  2O1 

the  time  was  when  drinking  was  more  an  art  and  an  enjoy 
ment  than  it  is  now. 

In  one  corner  of  this  hall  an  iron  railing  protects  the  most 
singular  specimens  of  delicate  handiwork  in  the  chambers. 
The  court  dwarf  of  Augustus  II.  in  gold  and  water-sapphire : 
and  an  amusing  lot  of  things  made  of  misshapen  pearls,  put 
together  so  as  to  represent  human  figures  and  various  animals, 
David  and  Goliath,  Satyrs,  Jonah  and  the  whale,  all  of  them 
irresistibly  funny:  carved  figures  in  ebony,  so  small  as  to 
require  careful  examination  to  discover  the  skill  required  for 
their  construction ;  the  potter,  the  knife-grinder,  the  lace- 
makers,  etc.,  all  done  to  the  life,  yet  so  delicate  as  to  be 
broken  by  a  touch. 

The  armory  room,  which  is  so  called  because  it  has  no 
armor  in  it,  is  adorned  with  wood  carvings,  six  by  Albert 
Durer,  a  cherry-pit  on  which  eighty  heads  can  be  seen  dis 
tinctly,  if  you  look  through  a  microscope :  a  case  of  pistols 
about  an  inch  long,  warranted  not  to  kill :  and  as  the  crown 
of  the  whole,  we  have  two  real  crowns,  two  scepters,  and  two 
coronation  globes  that  were  used  in  crowning  Augustus  III. 
and  his  Queen  in  1734.  If  the  blazing  jewels  are  not  real,  the 
genuine  ones  are  in  the  next  room  into  which  we  now  enter. 
For  we  have  now  come  into  the  treasury  of  the  Saxon  kings ; 
to  six  cases,  in  which  are  displayed  the  largest,  most  brilliant, 
beautiful  and  valuable  collection  of  jewels  in  Europe.  What 
may  be  in  the  palaces  of  the  Orient  I  do  not  know.  These 
have  been  gathered  by  purchase,  by  dowries  and  inheritance, 
until  they  are  unrivalled :  here  we  see  a  garniture  of  rose  dia 
monds,  64  in  number,  another  with  60,  a  sword  hilt  with  1,898 
single  stones,  with  orders,  epaulets,  buckles  and  buttons  "too 
numerous  to  mention,"  strings  of  pearls,  necklaces,  shoulder- 
knots,  earrings,  brooches,  hairpins,  rings  set  with  rubies, 
emeralds,  sapphires,  garnets,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  dazzling 
light  are  two  plain  finger  rings  that  once  were  the  property 
of  Martin  Luther  and  Philip  Melancthon.  These  two  rings 
are  precious  because  their  owners  were  useful  men.  Not  one 
diamond  of  all  the  rest  has  the  slightest  value  because  of  the 
king  or  queen  who  wore  it. 


202  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

But  I  am  tired  of  making  out  this  list,  for  that  is  all  I  can 
do,  and  not  one  in  ten  thousand  of  the  things  has  been  men 
tioned.  What  are  they  for?  What  is  the  use?  Are  they 
worth  the  money  they  cost  ?  Vain  questions.  These  works, 
like  the  pictures  and  statues  that  adorn  the  great  galleries  of 
the  world,  are  fruits  of  human  genius,  skill,  toil  and  patience. 
Rich  men  have  paid  poor  men  for  making  them,  and  poor 
men  have  been  made  rich,  or  at  least  happy,  by  the  bounty  of 
the  rich.  Beauty  has  its  use,  and  the  art  that  produces  beauty 
is  the  gift  divine.  Nature  is  the  highest  art,  and  God  has 
made  everything  beautiful  in  its  season. 


DRESDEN   PICTURES. 

To  find  one  of  the  best  five  pictures  in  the  world,  you  must 
certainly  come  to  Dresden.  All  good  judges  may  not  be 
agreed  as  to  the  five,  but  they  will  probably  all  count  as  one 
of  the  elected  number  the  Sistine  Madonna  Raphael.  My 
uninstructed  judgment  places  this  in  the  middle  of  the  first 
five,  arranged  in  this  order  :  i.  Raphael's  Transfiguration  ;  2. 
The  communion  of  Jerome,  by  Domenichino ;  3.  The  Sistine 
Madonna;  4.  Murillo's  Assumption  of  the  Virgin;  5.  Paul 
Potter's  Bull.  Artists  may  smile  at  this  selection,  yet  the 
unanointed  eye  may  see  with  more  impartial  vision  than  that 
of  the  artist  whose  rules  constrain  him  to  say  that  a  picture 
ought  to  please  you,  and  would  if  you  knew  what  is  beautiful 
and  perfect  in  art.  No  one  may  fear  to  place  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  world's  best  pictures  this  Dresden  Madonna,  and 
if  you  give  it  the  preference  before  all  other  conceptions  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  you  are  still  safe  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
goodly  company  like-minded.  Certainly  Raphael's  Marys 
are  the  best,  and  this  is  his  best,  so  that  we  are  easily  brought 
to  the  decision  that  the  one  we  are  now  admiring  has  no  peer. 

Having  spent  some  time  in  the  several  galleries  of  London, 
Paris,  Berlin,  St.  Petersburgh,  Dresden,  Munich,  Vienna, 
Florence,  Rome,  Naples,  Madrid,  Seville,  and  many  other 


DRESDEN  PICTURES.  203 

European  cities,  I  am  quite  ready  to  believe  that  no  one  con 
tains  so  many  pictures  of  so  little  merit,  together  with  a  few 
of  such  transcendent  excellence,  as  this  one  gallery  in  Dres 
den.  Since  I  was  here  before  the  new  Palace  of  Art  has 
been  erected,  and  the  paintings  removed  to  it,  so  that  they 
enjoy  the  advantage  of  better  light  and  arrangement  than 
before.  The  pictures  themselves  appear  improved  :  and  that 
not  by  the  dreadful  process  of  restoration  going  on  continu 
ally,  but  by  the  more  favorable  position  which  they  occupy. 
It  is  fearful  to  read  in  history  of  such  a  gallery  that  a  man 
is  employed  by  the  year  to  restore  the  works  of  the  old 
masters  :  "  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread  :"  and  he 
must  be  a  vain,  bold  man,  who  would  put  his  clumsy  brush 
into  the  master  work  of  Raphael  or  Correggio,  and  confound 
his  own  coloring  with  theirs.  As  well  might  a  rash  school 
boy  try  to  mend  the  style  of  Cicero  or  to  restore  the  lost 
books  of  Livy.  Let  us  have  the  real  thing  in  the  melancholy 
of  its  ruin,  rather  than  to  be  confounded  with  the  mixed 
colors  of  Michael  Angeloand  John  Smith.  Yet  this  work  of 
re-touching  is  going  on  continually  in  all  the  great  galleries 
of  Europe.  You  come  to  a  vacancy  on  the  wall,  and  learn 
that  the  picture  belonging  there  has  been  taken  down  to  be 
cleaned,  which  means  that  some  one  has  got  the  job  of  putting 
it  in  order.  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  it  will  appear  in  its 
place,  radiant  with  fresh  varnish  and  brilliant  as  the  coat  of 
Joseph.  The  Director  of  the  gallery  has  the  letting  out  of 
this  work,  and  manages  to  make  a  profitable  thing  of  it  for 
himself  or  his  favorite  artists,  who  are  constantly  discovering 
the  necessity  of  overhauling  one  or  another  of  the  pictures. 
The  obscurities  escape  such  sacrilege,  but  the  celebrities  suffer 
sadly.  Here,  for  example,  is  the  master  piece  of  Correggio, 
"  LA  NOTTE." 

The  history  of  the  picture  is  very  brief,  for  it  has  had  not 
many  vicissitudes  :  it  was  painted  for  the  chapel  of  St.  Pros- 
pero,  in  Reggio,  in  1522-1528:  it  was  thence  transferred  to 
the  Modena  gallery,  and  was  among  the  hundred  pictures 
bought  for  the  Dresden  collection  in  1745.  Here,  it  has  been 
preserved  with  almost  sacred  care.  But  it  is  a  matter  of  fact, 


204  1REN&US  LETTERS, 

so  far  from  being  denied,  it  is  recorded  in  the  history  of  the 
gallery,  that  this  picture  was  restored  by  Palmaroli,  of  Rome, 
in  1826,  and,  as  if  that  restoration  were  not  enough,  it  was 
done  over  in  1858  by  Schirmer  of  Dresden.  It  is  alarming 
positively  to  be  told,  as  we  are  by  the  Director  himself,  that 
Palmaroli  came  here  and  spent  one  year  restoring  the  pic 
tures  :  in  this  twelvemonth  he  restored — think  of  it — fifty- 
four  paintings,  all  of  them  by  men  the  latchet  of  whose  shoes 
he  could  not  unloose — and  among  these  glorious  works  which 
this  man  put  his  hand  to,  and  renewed  during  that  awful  year, 
were  Correggio's  La  Notte,  and  Raphael's  Sistine  Madonna. 
Besides  this  he  touched  up  three  great  altar  pieces  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  Churches !  What  a  year's  work  for  one 
man!  And  he  was  paid  more  for  the  work  he  did  upon  Cor 
reggio's  La  Notte  than  the  great  master  received  for  paint 
ing  the  original  picture !  Then  Schirmer,  at  that  time  one 
of  the  Directors  of  the  gallery,  took  hold  of  this  "  La  Notte" 
in  1858,  and  we  have  it  as  it  came  from  his  hands.  What 
it  was  when  it  was  the  glory  of  the  St.  Prospero  chapel,  no 
man  will  ever  know. 

In  a  beautiful  corner  room  of  this  vast  palace  of  art,  alone 
in  its  grandeur  and  beauty,  as  if — as  indeed  it  is  so — no  other 
painting  in  the  gallery  is  worthy  to  be  in  the  same  apart 
ment,  stands  the  "  Madonna  di  San  Sisto."  The  picture  has 
been  so  often  reproduced  in  copies,  painted,  engraved  and 
photographed,  that  the  world  is  familiar  with  its  features. 
The  Virgin  Mary,  having  the  divine  infant  in  her  arms,  is 
borne  up  by  clouds ;  on  her  right  Saint  Sixtus  is  kneeling  and 
adoring.  On  the  left  is  Saint  Barbara,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
picture  two  cunning  little  cherubs  rest  on  their  elbows  and 
look  up.  This  famous  work  was  painted  for  the  altar  of  the 
convent  in  Piacenza,  and  it  was  there  more  than  two  hun 
dred  years,  undisturbed.  Raphael  died  in  1520,  at  the  age  of 
37.  In  the  year  1711  Augustus  III.,  then  the  Crown  Prince 
of  Saxony,  travelling  in  Italy,  visited  this  convent,  and  seeing 
this  picture,  desired  to  obtain  possession  of  it.  But  it  was 
full  forty  years  before  he  succeeded.  In  1754  he  got  it  for 
$40,000,  the  monks  keeping  a  copy,  which  answers  their  pur- 


DRESDEN  PICTURES.  205 

pose  just  as  well,  and  the  money  was  very  acceptable.  Their 
copy  is  regarded  as  the  original  at  the  convent,  and  if  the 
original  is  restored  a  few  times  more,  the  copy  may  be  equally 
entitled  to  veneration.  The  art  of  restoring  pictures  is  now 
one  of  the  fine  arts,  and  has  reached  a  point  of  perfection 
beyond  which  it  will  hardly  pass.  It  was  at  first  supposed 
that  the  only  way  to  restore  a  painting  was,  as  in  the  case  of 
a  statue,  to  make  anew  what  was  defective,  and  to  harmonize 
with  the  original  so  far  as  it  remains.  Now  the  restorer  not 
only  does  all  this  with  courage  and  success,  but  having  found 
that  the  paint  upon  an  old  canvas  is  thick  enough  and  solid 
enough  to  hold  its  own  when  the  canvas  on  which  it  is  laid 
is  removed,  the  restorer  carefully  removes  the  dilapidated 
canvas  from  the  paint,  puts  the  old  paint  upon  a  new  canvas, 
and  then  supplies  the  parts  that  are  lacking.  If  the  supplies 
are  large,  it  is  difficult  to  see  why  he  has  not  made  a  painting 
more  new  than  old.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  this  grand 
painting  by  Raphael  has  suffered  less  at  the  merciless  hands 
of  the  tinkers  than  many  others.  It  is  probable  that  the 
heads  of  the  Madonna,  the  infant,  and  the  saints,  are  sub 
stantially  the  same  as  the  master  left  them.  And  it  would  be 
very  hard  to  exaggerate  the  indescribable  beauty  and  glory  of 
this  picture.  The  infant  has  a  head,  a  face  that  fairly  repre 
sents  a  divine  child,  before  whom  at  this  moment  all  his  life 
and  death  are  present.  For  then,  while  a  fair-haired  boy  in 
his  mother's  arms,  the  future  was  all  before  him  :  the  shame, 
the  sorrow,  the  agony :  the  scourge,  the  thorns,  the  cross : 
the  desert,  the  garden  and  Calvary :  all,  all  were  on  his  heart 
when  he  hung  on  his  mother's  neck,  or  lisped  his  morning 
prayer  at  her  knees.  And  beyond  all  other  pictures  of  the 
child  Jesus,  this  one  presents  him  as  an  infant  with  years  in  his 
soul.  As  the  image  every  lover  of  the  Saviour  forms  in  his 
own  mind  exceeds  in  majestic  beauty  whatever  human  art  in 
marble  or  canvas  can  embody,  so  we  are  always  disappointed 
with  the  types  of  the  Man  Christ  Jesus  which  the  greatest  of 
the  old  masters  have  left  for  our  study.  It  is  so  in  some 
degree  with  the  Virgin  Mary.  It  does  not  seem  to  have  come 
into  the  mind  of  any  of  these  old  masters  that  the  Virgin  was 


206  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

the  only  one  of  all  living  women  who  knew  that  this  child  was 
begotten  of  God !  !  The  feeling  to  be  shown  in  her  face 
would  be  that  of  wonder  and  joy.  The  desire  of  all  Jewish 
women  had  been  answered  in  the  birth  of  this  boy,  and  she 
was  Blessed  above  all  human  beings  as  the  mother  of  Israel's 
Prince  and  Saviour.  No  one  of  the  great  Madonnas,  the 
works  of  Raphael,  Correggio,  Carlo  Dolce,  Murillo,  or  of  a 
hundred  others,  no  one  of  them  attempts  to  express  these, 
which  must  have  been  the  overpowering  thoughts  of  her 
exalted  and  exulting  soul !  Yet  this  face  is  full  of  tenderness, 
serenity,  meekness  and  love.  The  sweetness  of  expression,  if 
sweetness  is  capable  of  being  expressed,  has  been  as  fully 
developed  in  this  face  as  in  any  that  was  ever  put  upon  canvas. 
But  it  is  not  in  the  face  of  the  mother  that  the  wonderful 
power  of  this  work  appears.  Her  figure,  buoyed  by  its  own 
lightness  and  floating  firmly  in  the  air;  the  adoring  old  man 
on  his  knees,  and  the  bewitching,  smiling  Barbara  on  the 
other  side,  contrasted  with  the  aged  saint :  the  whole  of  the 
great  picture  in  all  its  parts  is  so  united  as  to  produce  the 
highest  emotions  of  sacred  pleasure  in  the  beholder.  It  is 
like  eloquence  stirring  to  its  deepest  depths  the  soul  of  the 
hearer.  This  addresses  the  heart  through  the  eye.  It  speaks 
as  clearly  and  effectively  as  though  it  were  put  into  words 
and  they  fell  on  the  ear. 

There  are  many  thousands  of  pictures  in  this  gallery,  and 
among  so  many  some  of  wide  renown,  as  paintings  that 
are  the  property  of  the  world.  Several  of  Titian's  best  works 
are  here.  The  greatest  masters  of  the  Dutch,  the  Flemish, 
the  Italian  and  the  Spanish  schools  are  well  represented, 
and  a  few  weeks  or  months  of  study  in  the  Dresden  gallery 
will  form  an  important  part  of  one's  art  education. 


THE  FIXE  OLD  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN.        207 


THE   FINE  OLD   ENGLISH   GENTLEMAN. 

We  were  dining  at  Lucerne,  in  Switzerland.  The  elegant 
room  was  filled  with  two  or  three  hundred  guests.  Not  far 
from  us,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  were  three 
gentlemen  whose  conversation  it  was  impossible  not  to  hear, 
so  pronounced  was  every  word  they  said.  The  one  whose 
voice  was  the  loudest,  was  speaking  of  the  great  superiority 
of  things  at  home  compared  to  what  we  had  to  put  up  with 
in  foreign  travel.  The  tone  of  his  remarks,  the  swell,  the 
self-conceit,  the  contempt  for  others'  opinion,  and  the  accent 
also,  led  me  to  say  to  myself,  "  There's  another  of  those  con 
ceited  Englishmen :  was  there  ever  such  a  people  to  pride 
themselves  on  what  they  have  and  are,  and  to  despise  every 
body  and  every  thing  besides." 

At  this  moment  one  of  them  asked  him  : 

"  From  what  part  of  America  do  you  come  ?" 

Alas,  he  was  a  countryman  of  my  own,  and  all  my  specu 
lations  and  inferences  had  gone  for  nothing,  and  worse. 
The  tables  were  turned  against  me.  To  the  inquiry  he 
answered  : 

"  From  Boston :  you  have  probably  noticed  that  more 
Americans  who  are  abroad  come  from  Boston  than  any  other 
part  of  America?" 

"  And,  pray,  why  is  that  ?"  asked  one  of  the  gentlemen 
near  him. 

"  Because  there  are  more  people  of  wealth  and  culture  in 
Boston  than  in  any  other  American  city  :  we  have  no  class 
called  the  aristocracy,  but  the  best  families,  the  most  refined 
and  the  most  disposed  and  able  to  enjoy  foreign  travel,  reside 
in  Boston." 

In  this  strain  of  vulgar  boasting,  seeking  to  convey  the 
impression  that  he  was  one  of  the  people  he  described,  this 
countryman  of  mine  went  on  till  I  was  heartily  ashamed  of 
him,  and  of  my  own  first  impressions  as  to  his  nationality. 

The  next  day  I  was  at  Andermatt,  spending  the  night.  A 
gentleman  approached  me  and  pleasantly  remarked  : 


208  IRENJZUS  LETTERS. 

"  I  think  we  were  at  table  together  at  Lucerne  last  even 
ing." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  you  sat  next  to  a  countryman  of  mine 
from  Boston." 

He  laughed,  and  said,  "  He  was  from  one  of  the  first 
families,  one  of  your  aristocracy :  but  it  was  very  character 
istic,  was  it  not?" 

"Of  what?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  but  we — the  English — have 
an  idea  that  you — Americans — are  given  to  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  And  we  think,"  I  replied,  "just  the  same  of  you  ;  it  is  six 
for  one,  and  half  a  dozen  for  the  other." 

And  so  we  chatted,  coming  to  the  sage  conclusion  that 
there  are  fools  in  all  countries,  and  a  fool  at  home  is  twice  a 
fool  abroad. 

At  Interlaken  we  spent  a  week  at  the  Hotel  des  Alpes. 
The  company  was  very  distinguished,  the  "  first  families"  from 
Germany,  Russia,  France,  and  England.  I  was  sitting  one 
evening  in  the  grand  salon,  on  the  same  sofa  with  the  Prin 
cess of  Russia,  with  whom  I  had  no  acquaintance,  and  of 

course  we  were  not  in  conversation.  An  English  gentleman, 
a  pater-familias  whose  wife  and  children  were  around,  came 
up,  and  addressing  the  Princess  familiarly,  said,  "  Shall  I 
find  a  seat  here  ?"  I  moved  along,  and  he  crowded  in  between, 
and  began  with  a  series  of  questions  to  the  lady  :  "  Have  you 
bene  to  London?"  "  Which  of  the  theatres  did  you  prefer?" 
"  Did  you  attend  any  of  the  races  while  in  England  ?" 

The  Princess  gave  him  brief  answers,  and  indicated  that 
she  had  the  true  Russian  dislike  to  England — she  greatly 
preferred  Paris  and  the  French.  He  was  equal  to  the  occa 
sion.  "I  am  fond  of  Paris,"  he  said;  "I  have  spent  three 
winters  there  while  my  daughters  were  pursuing  studies, — 
they  required  instruction  in  languages, — but  they  were  well 
educated  before  I  brought  them  to  Paris — they  could  follow 
the  hounds  with  me — my  oldest  daughter  will  take  any  fence 
that  I  would  go  over, — splendid  rider, — but  they  came  abroad 
for  languages" — and  so  on,  till,  wearied  with  his  talk,  I  left 
him  with  the  Princess. 


THE  FINE  OLD  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN.        209 

The  next  morning  he  came  into  the  breakfast-room  lead 
ing  a  bulldog — perhaps  it  was  a  half-grown  pup —  by  a  chain. 
It  was  an  ugly-looking  beast,  that  should  have  been  kept  in 
the  stable.  But  he  brought  him  to  table,  and  the  vile  animal 
took  a  seat,  on  his  haunches,  in  a  chair  by  the  side  of  his 
master.  The  wife  came  in,  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
dog,  and  pouring  milk  into  a  saucer,  broke  bread  into  it,  and 
this  fine  old  English  gentleman  and  his  wife  and  the  beast 
ate  their  breakfast  together!  As  breakfast  was  served  on 
small  tables,  each  family  having  one  apart,  there  was  no 
ground  for  complaint ;  but  as  this  English  family  sat  within 
a  few  feet  of  me,  the  sight  interfered  with  the  quiet  of  my 
breakfast  after  it  was  eaten.  It  may  be  civilization  for  dogs 
to  eat  at  their  master's  table  in  England,  though  I  never  saw 
it  in  practice  there,  but  it  is  an  insult  to  the  decencies  of 
human  society  for  any  man  to  take  a  big  dog  to  a  public 
breakfast-room,  and  seat  him  at  the  table. 

At  dinner,  when  a  hundred  guests  were  at  one  long  table, 
this  fine  old  English  gentleman  led  his  dog  in,  and  fastened 
him  to  his  chair,  to  the  danger  of  all  and  fear  of  many,  for  a 
bull-dog  is  not  a  reliable  person  when  a  stranger  comes  by. 
The  master  ordered  champagne,  and  instead  of  having  it 
opened  by  the  servant  who  brought  it,  he  startled  the  whole 
company  by  exploding  it  himself,  and  clapping  his  hand  over 
the  mouth  of  the  bottle,  sent  the'  liquor  in  hissing  streams  in 
every  direction. 

These  are  a  few  specimens  of  the  manners  of  this  gentle 
man, — evidently,  from  the  appearance  of  himself,  his  family, 
and  associates,  a  man  of  standing  and  means ;  but  supremely 
selfish,  having  an  utter  disregard  for  the  feelings  of  others, 
and  intent  solely  upon  his  own  importance.  He  cared  more 
for  that  ugly  beast  of  a  bull-pup  than  for  the  comfort  of  all 
the  human  family,  himself  excepted. 

We  had  taken  our  seats  in  an  omnibus  to  ride  to  the  sta 
tion.  An  elderly  English  lady  with  a  maid  entered  its  door, 
and  not  wishing  to  go  to  the  upper  end,  the  lady  spoke  out, 
"There's  room  enough  if  the  people  will  move  up."  A  lady 
changed  her  seat  to  the  other  side  of  the  coach  and  left  so 


210  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

much  room  that  the  imperious  woman  bestowed  her  bag 
upon  the  seat.  The  lady  who  had  relinquished  her  place, 
finding  the  window  open,  wished  to  return,  and  I  said  so  to 
the  woman,  who  did  not  move.  I  then  took  her  bag  and  put 
it  on  the  floor,  saying  "  The  lady  is  exposed  to  the  draught 
and  wishes  to  sit  out  of  it."  She  caught  up  her  bag,  replaced 
it  on  the  seat  and  positively  refused  to  allow  the  lady  to  find 
a  seat  on  the  other  side,  though  she  had  moved  especially  to 
oblige  this  selfish  and  unfeeling  creature,  who,  having  got 
what  she  wanted,  did  not  care  whether  the  delicate  and  kind- 
hearted  lady  suffered  or  not. 

We  arrived  at  Baden-Baden  from  Switzerland.  At  the 
German  frontier  we  suffered  the  usual,  useless  and  cruel 
annoyance  of  a  baggage  search,  a  custom  to  be  abolished  by 
the  millennium,  but  I  fear  not  before.  At  the  station  in 
Baden  an  elderly  English  gentleman  was  unable  to  find  his 
trunk  and  other  traps  :  they  were  left  behind  :  there  was  no 
doubt  of  that :  his  rage  was  amusing :  when  he  had  exhausted 
himself  upon  the  officials,  who,  being  Germans,  did  not  not 
understand  a  word  he  said,  he  fell  upon  me : 

"  Are  you  an  Englishman  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  am  an  American." 

"  Then  you  speak  the  English,"  he  broke  out — these,  these, 
these villains" — he  used  double-barreled  oaths,  sin 
gle  ones  would  not  answer,  where  I  have  put  those  dashes, 

"  these  villains  have  lost  my  luggage,  and  here  I  am 

with  nothing  but  what  is  on  my  back." 

I  said  to  him,  "  Did  you  attend  to  it  on  the  frontier,  when 
we  all  had  our  luggage  overhauled  ?" 

"  No,  I  heard  nothing  about  it :  did  not  know  there  was 
any  examination  :  rascally  treatment :  I've  been  all  over  the 

world  and  never  had  this  thing  happen  before : 

meanest  country  I  was  ever  in." 

I  did  not  remind  him  of  my  standing  three  mortal  hours  in 
Liverpool,  in  a  stifling  pen,  waiting  the  pleasure  of  her 
Majesty  to  inspect  my  linen  ;  but  I  said  to  him  that  his  lug 
gage  could  easily  be  recovered,  and  by  and  by  he  stopped 
swearing  and  resolved  to  try  the  telegraph. 


STUDIES  IN   TORTURE  ROOMS.  211 

There  was  no  apology  for  this  fine  old  English  gentleman 
indulging  in  coarse  profanity  in  the  midst  of  ladies,  but  there 
was  justifying  cause  of  real  annoyance  and  complaint.  He 
did  not  understand  German,  and  when  the  passengers  were 
ordered  out  to  see  their  trunks  opened,  knew  nothing  that 
was  said,  and  while  others  were  attending  to  it,  he  was  quietly 
reading  his  newspaper.  His  luggage  was  therefore  detained, 
and  he  went  on,  only  to  find  at  the  end  of  a  day's  journey 
that  he  had  been  robbed  of  all  his  goods  by  the  government 
into  whose  protection  he  had  come. 

Such  people  as  I  have  been  writing  about,  one  meets  daily  in 
his  travels.  They  serve  to  illustrate  this  very  obvious  remark, 
that  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make  up  a  world  ;  and  while  there  are 
national  peculiarities  there  are  also  conceited,  selfish,  dis 
gusting  persons  in  all  countries,  not  excepting  one's  own. 

There  is  no  higher  type  of  cultivated  Americans  than  the 
Boston  type,  yet  here  I  meet  a  traveled  ass  making  the  very 
name  of  our  Athens  ridiculous  by  his  vanity  and  folly.  No 
nation  on  earth  has  a  more  finished  civilization  than  the 
English  :  their  intelligence,  culture  and  breeding  easily  place 
them  as  a  people  among  the  leaders  of  the  world's  progress. 
But  the  three  examples  that  I  have  quoted  above  from  my 
observations  of  the  last  few  days  might  be  types  of  the 
rudest  and  vulgarest  people  on  the  earth.  There  is  no  more 
agreeable  person  than  the  true  English  gentleman.  And  vice 
versa. 


STUDIES  IN  TORTURE  ROOMS. 

Chambers  of  torture  are  not  very  agreeable  school  rooms. 
But  I  have  been  in  so  many  of  them,  that  I  ought  to  have 
learned  something  besides  the  uses  of  these  dungeons  and 
pitfalls,  and  rings  and  rusty  chains,  and  pulleys,  and  wheels, 
and  spikes,  and  screws,  and  knives,  and  saws,  and  hooks,  in 
which  and  by  which  men  and  women  have  been  tortured  to 
death,  because  their  opinion  differed  from  those  who  had  the 


212  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

power  to  starve,  or  stretch,  or  flay,  or  maim,  or  kill,  the  victim 
in  their  hands. 

We  ought  to  learn  to  be  charitable  toward  those  who 
invented  and  used  these  terrible  instruments  of  human  agony, 
and  with  cruel  hands  applied  them  to  the  flesh  and  nerves  of 
their  fellow-men.  Even  the  monster  who  could  sit  calmly  by 
and  guage  the  misery  of  their  hapless  victims,  to  know  the 
measure  of  woe  they  might  endure  and  yet  live  to  undergo 
fresh  torture,  even  these  monsters  may  deserve  charity.  The 
spirit  of  the  Master,  who  prayed  for  his  crucifiers,  requires  of 
us  to  be  charitable.  But  this  is  straining  a  point.  They 
were  men,  and  so  are  we  who  judge  them  now.  If  they  were 
men,  and  yet  capable  of  such  crimes,  we  must  be  more  than 
men  to  feel  anything  short  of  unmingled  detestation  when 
we  remember  their  deeds,  and  look  with  horror  upon  the 
tools  of  their  trade,  and  recount  the  virtues  of  those  who 
suffered. 

We  found  these  cheerful  implements  first  at  Baden-Baden. 
There,  in  the  house  that  to  this  day  is  the  Duke's  royal  resi 
dence,  we  were  led  to  the  chamber  of  judgment,  and  saw  the 
pitfall  from  which  none  ever  returned  to  reveal  the  mysteries 
of  the  depths  below.  The  Castle  of  Chillon,  on  the  shores  of 
the  lovely  lake  of  Geneva,  had  its  chamber  of  tortures,  which 
was  opened  for  our  entertainment.  We  have  passed  by  many 
without  looking  in  upon  them.  When  in  search  of  pleasure  it 
is  not  well  to  fill  the  eye  and  the  mind  with  sights  and  thoughts 
that  haunt  one  trying  to  go  to  sleep.  But  what  has  moved 
me  to  this  present  writing  is  the  view  of  the  Castle  of  Salz 
burg  in  Austria.  No  scenery  in  Europe  is  more  picturesque 
than  this,  and  the  view  from  the  heights,  crowned  by  the 
ancient  castle,  is  magnificent  beyond  description.  This  was 
once  the  residence  of  prince-bishops,  who  were  civil  as  well 
as  spiritual  powers  .n  the  world,  and  reigned  with  sceptres 
of  iron  and  swords  of  steel  over  the  people  of  this  province. 
They  were  in  the  zenith  of  their  power  and  pride  when  the 
Reformation  shook  their  thrones,  and  roused  them  to  use 
those  means  that  Rome  knows  too  well  how  to  use  if  the 
prostrate  people  squirm  and  turn.  Thousands  of  Protestants 


STUDIES  IN   TORTURE  ROOMS.  213 

were  brought  as  sheep  to  the  slaughter,  and  suffered  linger 
ing  and  awful  deaths  on  these  heights.  The  rack  on  which 
strong  men  and  lovely  women  were  stretched  in  agony 
unspeakable  still  remains  in  the  chamber  of  torture,  and 
mutely  testifies  to  the  woes  that  were  here  endured  in  witness 
of  the  truth  as  it  was  and  is  in  Jesus. 

We  have  all  these  chambers  of  horrors  associated  with  the 
power  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  In  some  strongholds  of 
chieftains  they  have  been  instruments  of  vengeance  and 
oppression  and  extortion.  But  the  Church  of  Rome  is  in  its 
nature  a  persecuting  power,  and  cannot  be  true  to  its  princi 
ples  unless  it  uses  all  the  power  it  has  to  compel  men  to 
believe  as  it  believes.  Its  traditions  all  teach  this  fact.  The 
entire  history  of  the  Church  is  witness  that  it  believes  in  the 
right  and  duty  of  using  force  to  conquer  the  convictions  or 
to  punish  the  obduracy  of  unbelievers.  It  has  often  charged 
these  deeds  upon  the  State,  but  the  State  has  been  the  tool 
of  the  Church  when  it  has  shed  the  blood  of  martyrs.  The 
Church  has  that  blood  in  its  skirts,  and  when  God  maketh 
inquisition  for  blood,  he  will  discriminate  between  the  agent 
and  the  principal,  and  will  render  to  every  one  his  due. 

Protestantism  has  shed  the  blood  of  its  enemies.  Let  it  be 
spoken  with  humiliation  and  shame.  But  such  crimes  in  its 
history  are  exceptions,  not  the  rule  of  its  life.  Extenuating 
circumstances  might  be  urged  in  its  behalf,  but  there  is  no 
justification  in  the  sight  of  God  or  man  for  interference 
with  the  freedom  of  conscience.  It  is  even  now  for  an  aston 
ishment  that  Protestantism  was  so  slow  to  discover  the  prin 
ciple  of  religious  liberty,  and  to  practice  upon  it  in.  the  treat 
ment  of  errorists.  Erasmus  understood  it  better  than  Luther 
or  Calvin.  And  the  death  of  Servetus  at  the  hands  of 
Geneva,  if  not  of  Calvin,  will  always  require  of  us  Protestants 
to  speak  with  charity  of  the  men  who  made  hecatombs  of 
martyrs,  where  Protestants  have  slain  only  here  and  there  a 
victim. 

But  when  I  have  seen  the  relics  of  the  inquisition  in  Rome, 
and  the  more  fearful  remains  of  it  in  Spain,  and  come  to 
my  own  chamber  from  these  castles  and  prisons  that  still 


214  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

retain  the  memorials  of  the  bloody  deeds  of  former  times,  I 
am  not  so  much  stirred  with  indignation  towards  the  Church 
that  encouraged  and  commanded  the  cruelties  as  I  am 
distressed  to  think  that  human  nature  was  and  is  capable 
of  inflicting  such  wrongs  upon  its  own  kind.  "  Man's 
inhumanity  to  man !"  That  is  the  awful  reflection  that  fills 
me  with  horror,  as  I  know  that  human  nature  is  the  same 
now  that  it  always  was;  and  what  it  wrought  in  the  days 
when  the  bishops  stretched  helpless  victims  on  this  rack  in 
Salzburg,  it  is  just  as  ready  to  do  to-day,  if  the  opportunity 
and  the  motive  combine.  There  the  grand  distinction 
between  Romanism  and  Protestantism  stands  up  gloriously 
in  the  eyes  of  the  civilized  world.  We,  who  have  thrown  off 
the  bondage  of  Rome,  have  learned  \ha.\.  the  soul  of  man  must 
be  left  free  in  matters  of  religious  faith  and  worship.  They 
who  still  follow  the  lead  of  Rome  have  learned  nothing  since 
the  Reformation.  They  have  lost  power,  and  have  gained  no 
knowledge.  To  them  (it  is  so  taught  in  the  last  Syllabus  of 
the  Pope),  to  them,  it  is  still  an  elementary  principle  of  gov 
ernment  that  if  a  man  will  not  believe  as  he  ought,  he  must 
be  made  to.  If  he  cannot  be  reduced  to  obedience  he  must 
be  punished.  We  have  got  beyond  all  such  terrible  doctrines 
as  that.  It  was  such  an  idea  that  begat  the  Inquisition,  and 
lighted  all  the  fires  of  religious  persecution,  and  shed  the 
blood  of  saints  through  the  ages.  It  is  the  same  doctrine  that 
the  Turk  holds,  as  he  goes  with  fire  and  sword  to  convert 
the  nations.  His  onquests  have  been  made  in  the  name  of 
his  religion,  which  is  the  more  dreadful  as  the  vital  principle 
of  his  religion  is  enmity  to  the  Cross  of  Christ.  There  is  but 
one  ism  in  the  whole  world  worse  than  Mohammedanism. 
The  worst  is  Romanism.  It  is  worse  than  Islam  because  it 
boasts  the  Cross  as  its  glory  and  defence,  but  in  the  name  of 
that  Cross  wars  against  the  fundamental  principle  of  Christ's 
religion.  It  has  put  the  work  of  man  in  place  of  the  right 
eousness  of  Christ,  so  that  the  Cross  is  of  none  effect.  It  has 
despoiled  its  followers  of  the  liberty  with  which  Christ  makes 
his  people  free,  and  put  chains  of  slavery  upon  the  soul  and 
mind  of  men.  It  is  a  war  upon  society.  Education,  liberty. 


THE  LANCE    OF  ST.    MAURICE.  215 

improvement,  happiness  and  all  that  gives  brightness  and 
beauty  to  the  age  we  live  in,  perish  in  the  embrace  of  this 
system  which  calls  itself  Christianity,  but  has  neither  its  form 
nor  power.  I  noticed  this  while  sojourning  in  Roman  Cath 
olic  countries.  They  are  dead  while  they  live.  And  they 
come  to  life,  and  rise  into  the  spirit  and  action  of  the  age 
only  so  fast  as  they  are  emancipated  from  the  bondage  of  the 
Church.  France  is  free.  Germany  is  free.  Austria  is  more 
than  half  delivered  from  the  slavish  yoke.  Italy  revives. 
All  Europe  feels  the  awakening,  and  it  may  be  that  with  the 
accession  of  a  new  Pontiff,  the  attitude  of  the  Church  toward 
modern  society  may  be  changed.  At  present  she  is  just  as 
hostile  to  freedom  of  thought  and  liberty  of  conscience  as 
when  she  set  up  this  rack  in  Salzburg. 

We  must  be  charitable  toward  men ;  but  their  systems 
deserve  only  justice.  We  may  pity  the  victim  of  superstition, 
but  the  superstition  we  should  denounce  and  if  possible  dis 
pel.  And  this  is  the  lesson  to  learn  in  these  fearful  schools 
of  ancient  torture.  May  God  have  mercy  on  the  men  who 
still  defend  the  right  to  employ  the  arm  of  flesh  to  punish 
unbelief.  But  we  also  pray  God  to  put  a  speedy  end  to  the 
damnable  doctrine,  and  so  give  Christian  liberty  to  mankind. 


THE  LANCE  OF  ST.  MAURICE, 

AND  OTHER  SACRED   RELICS   IN   THE  VIENNA  TREASURY. 

I  am  not  a  relic-hunter  or  worshipper.  If  I  had  a  little 
more  credulity,  not  to  say  faith,  I  would  be  more  interested 
in  seeing  the  precious  things  which  superstition,  in  the  name 
of  religion,  preserves  with  pious  care.  It  is  not  required  of 
us,  who  disbelieve  and  ridicule,  to  impeach  the  sincerity  of 
those  who  receive  as  realities,  and  very  holy  realities,  the 
memorials  of  those  who  have  suffered  in  the  faith.  It  is 
quite  likely  that  they  are  as  devout  in  their  worship  as  we  are 
in  ours.  Still  it  is  very  hard  for  a  man  with  a  head  on  his 


216  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

shoulders  to  receive  as  authentic  a  toe-nail  of  John  the  Bap 
tist,  or  an  arm-bone  of  the  mother  of  her  who  was  the  mother 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Such  pretensions  take  us  out  of 
the  region  of  probabilities  into  the  possibles,  and,  without 
having  the  evidence,  we  shall  be  pardoned  for  rejecting  the 
claim.  Perhaps  if  we  had  the  evidence,  we  should  be  more 
incredulous  still. 

We  are  now  in  Vienna:  the  brilliant  capital  of  Austria. 
The  Austrian  Emperor  claims  to  be  the  successor  of  the 
Roman,  and  in  the  great  cathedral  here,  we  read  on  the  hand 
of  a  statue  of  Frederick  II.,  the  letters  A.  E.  I.  O.  U.  It  may 
seem  to  be  a  conceit  to  put  the  five  vowels  on  his  hand  which 
holds  a  sceptre,  as  if  he  were  the  king  in  the  world  of  letters. 
But  his  motto  was  in  five  Latin  words,  "  Austria  Est  Impe- 
rare  Orbi  Universo ;"  but  there  is  very  little  probability  that 
"Austria  is  to  rule  the  whole  world."  It  is  a  relic  of  Roman 
pride  and  ambition  to  make  a  motto  in  words  that  should 
include  as  their  initials  the  five  vowels  and  assert  the  supre 
macy  of  Austria  :  an  empire  now  scarcely  a  third-rate  power 
in  Europe.  But  it  has  a  wonderful  history,  and  much  of  its 
most  wonderful  history  is  associated  with  this  holy  lance  and 
a  NAIL  from  the  cross  on  which  Christ  suffered,  which  is 
wrought  into  the  point  of  the  lance ! 

It  is  a  spear  of  iron  with  a  blade  in  the  form  of  a  lancet,  a 
long  socket  with  short  vertically  detached  ears.  A  hole  was 
pierced  in  the  blade,  probably  during  the  reign  of  the 
Emperor  Otho  the  Great,  and  a  nail  of  singular  form,  said  to 
be  taken  from  the  Cross  of  Christ,  has  been  inserted  therein. 
It  is  likely  that  by  doing  so  the  blade  broke  in  the  middle, 
and  as  a  ligature  consisting  of  thin  plates  of  cast  iron  proved 
inefficient,  it  was  found  necessary  to  reinforce  it  by  encircling 
the  fracture  with  a  band  of  iron. 

The  Emperor  Henry  III.  put  over  the  iron  band  which 
covered  the  broken  place  and  secured  the  nail  (as  we  have 
already  mentioned)  a  second  band  of  silver,  which  for  greater 
security  was  soldered  on  both  edges,  and  solidly  riveted 
besides.  This  silver  band  bears  the  following  inscription  : 
(on  the  front):  "Clavus  Domini,  t  Heinricus  D-Igra  Terciis 


THE  LANCE   OF  ST.   MAURICE.  217 

Romano  Imperator  Aug  Hoc  Argentum  Jussit ;  (continua 
tion  on  the  back :)  Fabricari  ad  Confirmatione  Clavi  dui  et 
Lance(e)  Sancti  Mauricii ;  (and  in  the  centre :)  Sanctus  Mau- 
ricius." 

The  lance  remained  in  that  state  until  the  accession  of  the 
Emperor  Charles  IV.  During  the  reign  of  this  prince  a  plate 
of  gold  was  riveted  over  the  silver  plate,  laid  on  by  Henry 
III.,  so  as  to  cover  it  entirely.  This  plate  bore  the  simple 
inscription  in  Gothic  capital  letters :  "  t  Lancea  et  Clavus 
Domini." 

In  the  course  of  time,  several  rivets  having  become  loose, 
the  silver  band  of  Henry  III.,  of  whose  existence  nobody  had 
been  aware,  became  visible.  A  closer  examination  showed 
that  this  band  had  been  partly  cut  through  a  long  time  ago 
and  that  the  lower  part  of  the  nail  of  the  Holy  Cross,  which 
was  concealed  by  the  band,  had  been  lopped  off.  This  last 
alteration  of  the  Holy  Lance  probably  took  place  under 
Charles  IV.  This  prince  was  passionately  fond  of  collecting 
relics,  and  spared  no  effort  to  acquire  them.  It  is  said  that 
at  Treves  he  lopped  off  with  his  own  hand  a  piece  of  the 
"Holy  Cross"  preserved  there.  It  is  probable  that  the 
embellishment  of  the  lance  with  the  plate  of  gold  was  the 
result  of  the  Emperor's  desire  to  cover  the  silver  plate  which, 
being  partly  destroyed,  might  not  be  easily  restored,  and  to 
conceal  from  the  eyes  of  the  world  the  operation  which  had 
been  performed  on  the  nail  of  the  Holy  Cross.  The  new 
binding  of  silver  wire  that  replaced  the  rotten  leather  straps, 
also  dates  from  the  same  time. 

Who  is  not  acquainted  with  the  important  part  played  by 
the  Holy  Lance  in  the  history  of  the  German  Empire  ?  By 
the  discovery  of  the  inscription  proceed  ing  from  the  Emperor 
Henry  III.,  wherein  this  lance  is  mentioned  as  being  identical 
with  that  of  St.  Maurice,  our  interest  is  heightened,  as  the 
lance  of  this  Saint  was  already  regarded  during  the  Merovin 
gian  era  as  an  emblem  of  majesty  and  power. 

In  the  Saxon  history  which  Widukind,  monk  of  the  Abbey 
of  Korvei,  wrote  for  the  imperial  Matilda,  abbess  of  Quedlin- 
burg,  we  find  that  the  Holy  Lance  formed  part  of  the  insignia 


2l8  IRENSEUS  LETTERS. 

which  the  dying  King  Conrad  (t  13  Dec.  918)  delivered  to 
Evurhard,  his  brother,  to  be  given  to  Henry  I.  According 
to  the  Book  of  Retribution  which  the  learned  Luitprand 
began  to  write  about  the  year  958,  King  Henry  I.  had  extorted 
the  Holy  Lance  from  King  Rodolph.  Luitprand  relates  also 
that  the  Holy  Lance  had  formerly  belonged  to  Constantine 
the  Great,  and  mentions  it  while  relating  a  battle  fought  at 
Bierten  on  the  Rhine  by  King  Otho  I.  against  his  usurping 
brother  Henry.  King  Otho,  separated  from  his  little  army 
by  the  Rhine  and  unable  to  fly  to  its  assistance,  dismounted 
from  his  horse  and  fell  on  his  knees  together  with  his  people, 
praying  and  weeping  before  the  holy  nails  which  had  once 
pierced  the  hands  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  and  which  were 
now  placed  in  the  Holy  Lance. 

It  is  therefore  probable  that  the  holy  nail  was  set  in  the 
lance  during  the  reign  of  Otho  I.  According  to  the  account 
given  by  Widukind  of  the  defeat  of  the  Hungarians  on  the 
Lechfeld  (955),  King  Otho  fought  at  the  head  of  his  army, 
carrying  the  Holy  Lance  as  the  standard  of  victory.  After  the 
King  had  cheered  up  his  little  army  by  encouraging  speeches, 
he  grasped  his  shield  and  the  Holy  Lance  and  led  the  charge 
against  the  foe,  thus  fulfilling  his  duty  as  a  brave  warrior  and 
a  skilful  general. 

What  high  veneration  was  paid  to  this  relic,  and  what  im 
portance  was  attached  to  its  possession,  became  evident  at 
the  election  of  Henry  II.,  the  Saint  (1002),  who  chiefly  baf 
fled  the  claims  of  both  his  rivals,  Eckhard,  Duke  of  Thurin- 
gia,  and  Herman  II.,  Duke  of  the  Alemanni,  by  persuading 
the  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  who,  since  the  death  of  the 
Emperor  Otho  III.,  had  the  Holy  Lance  in  his  keeping,  to 
deliver  this  sacred  emblem  of  power  to  himself.  It  is  now 
preserved  with  the  Austrian  Regalia  and  other  treasures, 
and  visitors  are  permitted  to  look  upon  it  with  such  rever 
ence  as  they  may  feel. 

If  this  sketch  of  the  Lance's  history  is  neither  intelligible 
nor  interesting,  it  ought  not  to  be  set  down  as  my  fault,  for 
I  have  taken  it  almost  verbatim  from  the  Catalogue  of  the 
Treasure  house,  and  would  not  vouch  for  the  facts,  though  I 


THE  LANCE   OF  ST.    MAURICE.  219 

have  no  doubt-  of  their  correctness  from  the  time  that  Otho 
the  Great  set  the  nail  into  his  spear,  and  so  sanctified  it  as  a 
holy  lance.  Where  he  got  the  nail,  or  what  right  he  had  to 
claim  that  it  was  ever  in  the  hand  or  foot  of  the  Saviour  of 
men,  I  do  not  know,  and  nobody  else  knows.  But  faith  in  it 
has  wrought  wonders  :  not  miracles,  but  everything  short  of 
miracles.  It  removes  mountains.  It  overcomes  the  world. 
It  always  was  and  will  be  the  one  distinguishing  feature  of 
men  of  achievement,  and  nothing  great  among  men  is  done 
without  it.  This  Holy  Lance  is  neither  the  better  nor  the 
worse  for  the  nail  that  is  in  it,  but  faith  in  it  as  the  nail  that 
pierced  the  cross  on  which  the  Saviour  hung,  made  the  onset 
of  armies  irresistible  and  gave  victory  to  the  legions  that 
followed  the  leader  who  bore  it.  So  Faith  in  the  cross  of  the 
Redeemer,  a  living,  saving  faith,  a  real  faith  in  the  truth 
which  that  cross  teaches  and  attests,  is  the  only  moral  force 
that  gives  victory  to  the  armies  of  the  redeemed.  They 
believe  and  therefore  they  fight  on.  To-day  I  saw  two  gigantic 
pictures  by  Rubens  painted  for  the  Jesuits  of  Anvers  :  one 
was  Loyola  casting  out  devils  and  the  other  was  Xavier 
among  the  East  Indians,  raising  the  dead.  I  do  not  believe 
either  of  them  ever  did  either.  But  the  world  knows  what 
power  those  two  men  have  wielded  in  the  earth  in  the  name 
of  the  Cross  of  Christ.  And  greater  things  than  these  have 
our  humble  missionaries  done  among  the  pagans  of  every 
clime,  because  they  had  faith  in  the  Cross  of  Christ. 

There  is  only  one  piece  of  wood  in  the  world  claiming  to  be 
part  of  the  original  cross,  that  is  larger  than  the  one  exhib 
ited  in  this  treasury.  It  is  25  centimetres  long  and  5  wide. 
If  you  will  send  to  Randolph  the  Publisher,  in  New  York, 
and  get  my  brother's  little  book  on  the  "  Wood  of  the  Cross," 
you  will  learn  more  of  its  history  than  I  could  give  you  in  a 
dozen  letters.  And  when  you  read  it  you  will  wonder  with 
me  that  there  is  so  much  to  be  known  about  it. 

In  addition  to  these  two  most  precious  relics,  the  nail  and 
the  wood,  we  are  shown  a  piece  of  the  Holy  Table  Cloth  on 
which  the  Last  Supper  of  our  Lord  was  spread :  a  piece  of 
the  Holy  Apron  with  which  our  Lord  girded  himself  when 


220  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

he  washed  the  disciples'  feet :  a  chip  of  the  manger  in  which 
the  Infant  Saviour  was  born  :  a  bone  of  the  arm  of  St.  Anne : 
three  links  of  the  iron  chains  by  which  the  Apostles  Peter, 
Paul,  and  John  were  fettered,  and  a  tooth  of  John  the  Bap 
tist.  There  are  other  relics  here,  but  these  are  the  most 
remarkable.  Let  us  not  ridicule  the  credulity  that  cherishes 
these  things :  we  may  pity  it  as  superstition,  and  it  is  barely 
possible  that  we  have  ourselves  some  notions  just  as  absurd. 


THROUGH   THE  TYROL. 

The  iron  has  entered  into  the  heart  of  the  Tyrol,  and  we 
now  go  through  it  by  rail.  To  the  lover  of  the  wild,  secluded, 
picturesque,  and  romantic,  it  seems  almost  a  desecration  of 
the  sacredness  of  nature  to  intrude  upon  the  recesses  of 
mountain  solitudes,  and  disturb  the  peaceful  valleys  with  the 
rush  of  the  trains  and  the  shriek  of  the  whistle.  But,  in  this 
practical  age,  all  such  sentimental  preferences  yield  to  the 
economies  of  the  time,  and  we  traverse  Switzerland  and  even 
the  Tyrol  with  railroad  speed. 

The  Tyrol  is  a  mountainous  region  in  the  southern  part  of 
the  Austrian  Empire,  to  which  it  belongs.  It  touches  Italy 
on  its  lower  border,  and  has  the  Alps  on  its  bosom.  The 
people  resemble  the  Swiss  in  many  of  their  modes  and  cus 
toms,  and  the  character  of  the  scenery  is  not  unlike  that 
which  we  have  enjoyed  so  much  in  the  land  of  William  Tell. 
They  are  a  livelier  lot,  more  addicted  to  music,  dancing,  and 
smoking ;  they  drink  about  the  same  in  quantity  and  quality, 
and  are  just  about  as  poor.  They  speak  the  German  language 
in  the  north,  the  Italian  in  the  south,  and  a  mixture  of  both 
with  the  French  everywhere.  Their  dress  is  not  as  pictu 
resque  as  it  was  once,  for  the  contact  with  foreign  travellers 
has  led  them  to  drop  their  beautiful  costumes  and  to  imitate 
the  outside  world  in  the  toggery  they  wear.  Still  the  men, 
many  of  them,  stick  to  the  breeches,  with  stockings  from  the 


THROUGH   THE    TYROL.  221 

knee  to  the  ankle,  and  their  big  shoes  with  heavy  soles,  and  a 
jockey  hat  set  sideways  on  the  head,  and  a  feather  or  bunch  of 
feathers  surmounting  the  whole,  will  make  a  Tyrolese  dandy, 
or,  on  a  dilapidated  scale,  a  peasant.  The  short  gowns  of  the 
women,  and  jackets, — bodices  I  believe  they  are  called, — 
with  green  stockings,  a  profusion  of  silver  buttons  or  medals 
hanging  about  them — but  I  give  it  up,  a  woman's  dress  being 
beyond  my  art  of  writing.  They  are  very  interesting  in  their 
costume,  but  rarely  seen  in  it  in  their  native  villages.  When 
they  go  wandering  over  the  world,  as  Tyrolese  minstrels,  they 
are  greatly  admired,  and  every  one  supposes  there  is  a  coun 
try  where  all  the  men  go  about  dressed  as  brigands,  and 
the  women  as  if  they  were  at  a  fete.  But  take  them  at 
home,  and  they  are  just  about  as  dirty,  and  homely,  and 
unattractive  as  the  poor  peasants  of  any  other  country.  The 
Tyrolese  have  a  musical  name  and  reputation,  and  with  them 
is  associated  whatever  is  picturesque,  and  rural,  and  lovely, 
in  an  unsophisticated,  simple,  pastoral  people.  All  of  which 
is  as  near  the  fact,  as  the  most  of  our  impressions  derived  . 
from  the  rosy  romances  of  travellers  and  the  flowery  pages  of 
poetry. 

No  words  will  convey  an  extravagant  idea  of  the  beauty 
and  sublimity  of  the  scenery.  It  is  more  beautiful  and  less 
sublime  than  that  of  Switzerland.  In  an  hour  after  leaving 
Munich,  we  reach  the  pass  from  which  comes  the  river  Inn. 
We  are  to  follow  up  this  stream  into  the  heart  of  the  Tyrol. 
A  fortress  commands  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  and  the 
Schloss  and  the  convent,  and  the  church  on  the  hill,  speak 
to  us  at  once  of  the  religion  of  the  people.  Indian  corn  is 
raised  in  greater  quantities  than  we  had  seen  before  in  Eu 
rope,  and  it  was  dried  in  a  way  quite  novel.  Torn  from  the 
stalk  with  the  husks  covering  the  ear,  these  were  stripped 
down,  and  the  ears  hung  across  poles  laid  in  rack  form,  up 
the  sides  of  the  houses,  from  near  the  ground  to  the  eaves, 
so  that  the  whole  house  was  covered  with  this  singular  dis 
play  of  farm  produce.  Some  of  the  corn  was  yellow,  some 
white,  and  the  two  colors  were  never  mixed  while  thus  sus 
pended  for  drying.  As  we  made  our  rapid  journey  along  the 


222  IREN/EUS  LETTERS. 

river  Inn,  winding  up  the  mountains  and  surveying  the  vales, 
it  was  easy  to  say  and  to  feel  that  we  had  never  passed  through 
lovelier  scenes.  In  the  midst  of  these  autumnal  harvestings, 
in  which  men,  women,  and  children  were  taking  their  part, 
the  near  mountains  were  shining  in  their  winter  garments  of 
snow,  literally  bathed  in  the  light  of  heaven,  and  looking  as 
though  they  were  at  its  gates.  Often  we  pass  little  chapels, 
with  horrible  pictures  or  statues  representing  the  blessed 
Saviour's  sufferings  or  the  Madonna's  motherly  care.  Now 
and  then  a  cross  has  been  set  up  to  mark  the  spot  where  a 
mortal  accident  has  happened ;  and  if  the  natives  are  thus 
reminded  to  be  careful  in  driving,  and  also  to  be  mindful  of 
their  mortality,  they  may  serve  some  useful  purpose.  The 
mountains  now  begin  to  assume  gigantic  proportions  and  the 
scenery  rises  into  grandeur.  The  Solstein  shoots  up  ten 
thousand  feet !  On  one  side  of  it  the  face  is  almost  perpen 
dicular.  It  was  here  that  Maximilian  I.  was  saved  from 
awful  death  by  an  angel  or  a  chamois  hunter,  it  is  not  settled 
yet  by  which.  He  was  hunting  on  the  mountain,  and  falling 
off  this  precipice,  caught  on  the  face  of  the  rock  ;  and  while 
hanging  there,  and  just  ready  to  fall  and  be  dashed  to  pieces 
below,  a  deliverer  appeared,  and  drew  him  to  a  place  of  safety. 
The  peasants  who  saw  the  deliverance  ascribed  it  to  angelic 
interposition.  Zips,  the  huntsman,  said  he  saved  the 
Emperor,  but  Zips  was  not  a  truthful  man,  and  nobody  but 
the  Emperor  believed  him. 

In  the  midst  of  these  snow-white  mountains,  on  a  lovely 
plain  through  which  the  river  rushes  rapidly,  stands  the 
ancient  city  of  Innspruck.  Its  palace,  university,  monastery, 
churches  and  schools,  and  14,000  people,  make  a  town  of 
wonderful  interest  in  such  a  region  as  this.  One  has  to  reflect 
that  these  countries  have  a  history  that  covers  a  thousand 
years,  and  often  more,  before  he  can  realize  the  growth  that 
has  resulted  in  such  fruits  as  these  amid  rugged  hills  and 
unlettered  people.  And  it  is  true  that  in  this  church  in  the 
Tyrol,  the  Hofktrke,  or  Dom,  or  cathedral,  we  were  more  inter 
ested  than  in  any  other  we  have  yet  seen  in  Europe.  In  the 
very  midst  of  it  stands  a  marble  monument  of  immense  pro- 


THROUGH  THE    TYROL.  223 

portions,  on  the  summit  of  which  is  a  statue  of  Maximilian  I. 
in  bronze.  The  sides  of  the  monument  are  covered  with  bas- 
reliefs  in  marble,  representing  twenty-four  scenes  in  the  life 
of  this  Emperor.  The  exceeding  delicacy  of  this  work  is 
astonishing,  as  it  seems  to  be  rather  such  tracery  of  sculpture 
as  might  be  made  in  ivory,  but  is  scarcely  possible  in  marble. 
I  could  not  find  the  Emperor  falling  down  the  precipice, 
and  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  legend  is  not  deemed 
sufficiently  authentic  for  permanent  record  with  a  pen  of  iron. 
But  far  more  impressive  than  this  memorial  of  the  Emperor, 
were  twenty-four  life-size  bronze  statues  of  the  illustrious 
men  and  women  of  the  Austrian  royal  house.  That  they  are 
portraits,  there  could  not  be  a  doubt.  And  it  was  with  some 
thing  approaching  to  awe  that  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  these 
lines  of  statues,  in  armor  or  in  queenly  costume,  of  these  cele 
brated  characters,  from  Clovis,  King  of  France,  down  to  Albeit 
II.  of  Austria.  In  a  church  too  !  They  made  it  very  solemn, 
and  I  had  something  of  a  superstitious  feeling,  as  if  the  air 
was  filled  with  the  spirits  of  these  heroes  of  other  times. 

I  went  back  the  next  day  to  this  church  alone,  and  sat 
down  among  the  memorials  of  these  men  and  women,  and 
spelled  out  the  Latin  and  bronzed  inscriptions  at  the  feet  of 
them,  and  read  the  names  of  Godfrey,  and  his  valor  in  the 
Crusades,  and  of  women  who  have  made  immortal  names  by 
their  virtues  and  deeds.  And  all  this  in  the  old  church  in 
the  heart  of  the  Tyrol. 

The  sacristan  was  very  urgent  to  unfold  the  treasures  of 
the  Silver  Chapel,  which  he  did  with  evident  pride,  for  it 
contained  a  statue  in  solid  silver  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  an 
altar  of  silver,  and  ornaments  of  many  names  in  silver,  and 
this  chapel  thus  enriched  is  the  mausoleum  which  Ferdinand 
II.  made  for  his  wife  Phillipine  Welser  of  Augsburg,  of  whom 
we  heard  and  saw  many  things  to  assure  us  that  she  was  the 
best-favored  lady  of  her  time.  The  chapel  is  connected  with 
the  palace  by  a  private  passage  over  the  street,  so  that  the 
royal  family  can  drop  in  and  attend  service  at  any  time  with 
out  going  out  of  doors. 

But  the  most  modern  statue  in  the  church  is  the  most 


224  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

interesting.  It  is  that  of  Andre Hofer,  the  hereof  1809.  He 
was  a  peasant  inn-keeper,  and  when  Austria  and  France  were 
at  war,  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  Tyrolese  soldiery 
and  drove  the  French  out  of  the  country.  He  entered  Inn- 
spruck  as  a  conqueror,  and  played  king  in  the  palace  for  six 
weeks,  but  living  as  a  simple  peasant  all  the  while.  The  next 
year  Napoleon  drove  him  out,  took  possession  of  the  city, 
and  when  he  caught  Hofer  had  him  shot.  The  Tyrolese 
afterwards  got  his  body,  and,  burying  him  with  all  the  hon 
ors,  set  up  this  splendid  statue  to  their  peasant  hero,  under 
the  same  roof  that  covers  the  monuments  of  the  royal  line. 

We  made  an  excursion  from  the  city  into  the  villages  and 
among  the  farms  in  the  valley.  The  people  were  busy  with 
their  fall  crops.  Everybody  was  at  work.  The  men  and 
women  sat  on  the  ground  husking  corn.  The  cows  were 
harnessed  to  wains,  in  which  the  harvests  were  carried  home. 
We  called  at  the  church  door  of  the  old  monastery.  It  had 
a  magnificent  interior.  The  ceiling  was  rich  with  gilt  and 
frescoes.  Beautiful  paintings  adorned  the  side  chapels  and 
the  high  altar.  The  spacious  house  looked  as  though  it  were 
kept  for  show,  and  had  never  been  used,  so  clean,  fresh,  and 
glowing  was  the  whole.  Such  was  the  appearance,  also,  of 
the  more  splendid  chapel  in  the  monastery  on  the  heights  at 
Prague. 

Tunnels — twelve  or  fifteen  of  them — pierce  the  mountains 
up  which  we  climb,  as  we  go  by  way  of  the  Brenner  pass, 
from  Innspruck  to  Italy.  The  descent  is  more  rapid  and 
more  fearful.  We  fairly  rush  amain  down.  Ruined  castles 
tell  of  feudal  wars.  Wolfensteins  was  a  stronghold  600  years 
ago.  A  modern  fortress  at  Mittewald  puts  to  shame  these 
ancient  towers,  which  were  only  castles  of  cards  if  powder 
and  ball  had  been  spent  upon  them.  Brixen  has  been  the 
See  of  an  archbishop  these  last  nine  centuries !  The  Bene 
dictine  monastery  of  Seben  is  near  the  village  of  Klausen, 
and  the  Capuchin  Convent,  with  the  Loretto  chapel,  rich  in 
treasures  of  the  Church.  For  this  Tyrol  has  played  no  poor 
part  in  Roman  Catholic  history.  We  stop  at  Botzen,  and 
hasten  on  to  the  city  of  Trent.  The  Council  of  Trent  every 


A    CHURCH  AND  A   PICTURE.  $ 25 

one  has  read  of,  but  every  one  does  not  remember  that  the 
city  in  which  that  famous  Council  was  held  is  in  the  Austrian 
Tyrol.  Its  former  importance  as  the  capital  of  the  Tyrol 
has  indeed  passed  away,  but  it  is  still  a  magnificent  place, 
with  evidence  of  its  ancient  greatness  in  its  decayed  palaces 
and  ruined  castles.  Its  cathedral  is  of  pure  marble.  And  now 
it  is  the  favorite  resort  of  princes  in  the  Church,  of  scholars 
and  titled  dignitaries.  The  Council  that  held  its  sessions 
here  from  1 545  to  1 563,  a  term  of  eighteen  years,  had  some 
four  hundred  cardinals,  patriarchs,  archbishops,  professors, 
etc.,  and  made  its  mark  in  the  history  of  religion  and  the 
world. 

This  is  the  last  town  of  importance  we  pass  through  in  the 
Tyrol.  We  are  not  long  in  going  hence  to  Verona,  and  then 
we  are  in  Italy. 

And  so  we  pursue  our  devious  way  from  land  to  land,  pil 
grims  and  strangers,  seeking  always  a  better  country.  Not 
the  Tyrol  or  Switzerland,  where  Nature,  that  is  God,  has  all 
his  mightiest  works  outdone.  Not  Italy,  where  art  makes 
canvas  breathe  and  marble  speak.  Not  the  Holy  Land, 
whose  acres  were  pressed  by  the  feet  that  "  were  nailed  to 
the  tree  for  our  advantage."  But  a  better  country,  even  a 
heavenly :  a  city  that  hath  foundations,  whose  builder  and 
maker  is  God. 

Its  gates  are  made  of  Orient  pearl ; 

Its  windows  diamond  square  : 
Its  streets  are  paved  with  beaten  gold ; 

O  God  !  If  I  were  there  ! 


A  CHURCH  AND  A  PICTURE. 

It  was  the  hour  of  High  Mass  in  the  Milan  cathedral. 
We  had  been  led  to  seats  near  the  great  altar,  where  we 
could  see  and  hear  the  service.  For,  in  this  vast  edifice, 
those  at  a  distance  cannot  enjoy  anything  but  the  music. 


226  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

It  is  a  glorious  pile,  this  wonderful  work  of  human  genius, 
taste,  and  skill.  Many  think  it  the  most  impressive  and 
sublime  of  all  the  sacred  edifices  in  Europe.  It  is  the  most 
beautiful.  It  is  not  the  most  sublime.  Charles  V.  would 
have  put  the  Burgos  cathedral  under  glass,  if  he  could,  to 
keep  it  as  a  thing  of  beauty  to  look  at.  This  is  more  beau 
tiful  outwardly  :  the  interior  of  Burgos  church  is  more  lovely 
than  this  of  Milan.  The  cathedral  of  Seville  is  the  most 
overwhelming  in  its  effect  upon  the  worshipper,  of  any  house 
of  God  in  which  I  have  stood.  Going  into  it  at  noonday, 
from  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  a  Spanish  sky,  I  exclaimed 
with  devout  emotion,  "  Surely  this  is  none  other  than  the 
house  of  God."  It  is  not  needful  that  we  worship  after  the 
manner  of  those  who  build  these  temples,  or  to  be  in  sym 
pathy  with  their  ideas  of  the  ways  and  means  by  which  the 
Father  is  to  be  approached  with  the  petitions  of  his  children. 
They  are  sincere,  and  God  looks  upon  the  heart.  So  that  I 
sat  before  this  altar  and  sought  to  worship  in  spirit  and  truth, 
while  compelled  to  believe  that  those  around  me  were  far 
out  of  the  way.  But  the  temple  is  glorious  in  its  architec 
ture,  if  not  in  the  holiness  of  its  service.  As  the  warm  sun 
light  streamed  in  through  the  paintings  on  the  windows, 
and  lay  among  the  arches  and  illumined  the  lofty  ceiling, 
whose  tracery,  at  the  great  distance  from  which  we  view  it, 
looks  like  lace-work  under  the  roof,  my  eyes  would  wander 
away  from  the  idolatry  of  the  Mass  to  the  temple,  itself  an 
expression  of  prayer  and  praise !  This  house  stands  here  to 
proclaim  the  pious  purpose  of  them  who  built  it,  and  of  them 
who  cherish  it  from  age  to  age,  as  the  monument  of  their 
devotion.  It  is  not,  and  no  church  is,  simply  a  building  in 
which  the  people  are  to  be  taught  the  way  to  heaven.  This 
vast  cathedral  and  every  church  is,  or  should  be,  the  offering 
of  the  people  to  God  of  a  house  in  which  he  will  record  his 
name  and  visit  those  who  draw  near  unto  Him. 

Four  hundred  and  ninety  years  it  has  been  in  progress  of 
building,  for  its  foundations  were  laid  in  1386,  and  each  suc 
ceeding  year,  since  the  first  white  marble  stone  was  set,  has 
added  to  its  beauty.  It  is  486  feet  long,  and  that  delicate 


A    CHURCH  AND  A   PICTURE.  227 

groined  ceiling  is  153  feet  above  the  floor  from  which  we 
look  up  to  it.  It  is  surrounded  with  glittering  white  marble 
pinnacles,  each  pinnacle  surmounted  by  a  statue :  number 
less  niches,  without  and  within,  are  also  filled  with  statues, 
and  Scripture  scenes  are  carved  in  stone  adorning  the  walls, 
and  the  number  of  the  statues  is  so  great  that  no  one  tries 
to  count  them.  Taking  a  section,  I  soon  counted  1 50,  and 
the  proportion  of  that  section  to  the  whole  space  would 
make  the  total  number  about  10,000.  Some  have  estimated 
the  number  to  be  only  4,000.  There  are  niches  still  vacant, 
and  room  for  more  stories  from  the  Bible,  in  stone.  The 
work  will  go  on  from  age  to  age,  for  such  an  edifice  as  this 
will  never  be  perfect ;  the  only  one  that  is  perfect  is  the  house 
not  made  with  hands. 

We  walked  behind  the  high  altar,  when  a  priest  who  had 
just  been  officiating,  and  was  still  clad  in  his  vestments  for 
the  service,  asked  if  we  would  descend  into  the  vaults  and 
visit  the  shrine  of  St.  Charles  Borromeo.  He  was  Arch 
bishop  of  Milan  in  the  sixteenth  century.  The  fame  of  his 
benevolence  and  piety  is  still  fresh  in  all  Italy.  Memorials 
of  him  meet  the  eye  in  many  places  besides  this,  which  was 
his  peculiar  see. 

The  priest  lighted  a  taper  and  led  the  way  into  the  subter 
ranean  chapel.  It  was  a  strange  and  sudden  transition  from 
the  grandeur  of  the  temple  to  this  cold,  silent,  gloomy  vault. 
But  when  the  priest  lighted  the  row  of  candles  in  front  of 
the  solid  silver  coffin,  the  chapel  in  which  we  stood  was  all 
ablaze  with  silver,  gold,  and  precious  stones.  He  pointed  to 
the  many  costly  decorations  of  this  chamber  of  death,  as  if 
he  were  the  showman  of  the  place,  and  then  seizing  the 
handle  of  a  crank,  he  turned  it  round  and  round,  to  lower 
gradually  the  front  side  of  the  coffin.  The  row  of  lighted 
candles  shed  a  ghastly  light  upon  the  strange  spectacle 
within.  There  lay  the  mummied  body  of  the  sainted  bishop 
in  his  robes  of  office,  all  but  the  mitre  which  was  at  his  feet, 
and  the  grim  skeleton  skull  was  slightly  raised  and  staring  at 
us  as  we  stood  before  it !  What  good  purpose  is  to  be  served 
by  such  an  exhibition,  and  why  the  sensibilities  of  mankind 


22$  tRENMUS  LETTERS. 

should  be  shocked  and  disgusted  by  the  exposure  of  remains 
of  a  dead  man,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  That  the  ignorant 
multitude  suppose  there  is  a  holy  virtue  still  resident  in  the 
relics  of  the  saint  was  very  evident :  for  a  portion  of  the 
roof  of  this  underground  chapel  was  open,  making  a  way  to 
the  floor  of  the  cathedral  above,  and,  being  surrounded  by  a 
railing,  the  people  were  constantly  kneeling  around  it  and 
praying  to  the  saint  in  the  vault  below.  This  is  the  super 
stition  of  the  Romish  Church.  As  ignorance  is  the  mother 
of  such  devotion,  it  would  never  be  permitted  to  the  more 
intelligent  priesthood  to  disenchant  the  vulgar  herd  of  their 
delusion  that  dead  saints  may  be  their  intercessors  with  God. 
The  courteous  priest  who  was  acting  as  undertaker  to  us, 
was  quite  as  solemn  in  his  voice  and  movements  as  though 
he  were  administering  the  holiest  rites  of  his  Church,  and  I 
would  not  do  him  the  injustice  to  suppose  that  he  thought 
it  a  mockery  of  death  to  make  a  show  of  a  mummied  bishop 
and  to  take  the  fee  of  a  dollar,  as  he  did,  for  his  services  in 
the  tomb.  Having  extinguished  all  the  candles,  he  led  us  up 
stairs  into  the  cathedral,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  saw  him 
engaged  at  the  altar.  We  must  not  be  uncharitable,  but  it  is 
a  dreadful  draught  upon  one's  benevolence  to  believe  that 
enlightened  men,  of  the  highest  mental  culture,  can  put  any 
faith  in  the  efficacy  of  relics  of  the  dead.  And  here,  in  the 
midst  of  the  richest  display  of  art  in  the  magnificent  temple 
itself  and  its  decorations,  with  sculpture  and  painting,  these 
men  of  letters  and  thought,  full-grown  men,  continue  to  show 
the  towel  with  which  the  blessed  Saviour  washed  his  dis 
ciples'  feet,  a  rag  of  the  purple  robe  with  which  he  was  clad 
in  mockery,  four  of  the  thorns  out  of  that  cruel  crown,  one 
of  the  rugged  nails  that  fastened  him  to  the  cross,  and  a 
fragment  of  the  spear  that  pierced  his  side  !  It  is  a  sort  of 
sacrilege  to  record  such  words,  and  one  feels  a  relief  to  turn 
to  the  bones  of  the  prophets  and  to  be  told  that  here  are 
teeth  from  the  head  of  Abraham,  Elisha,  Daniel  and  John ! 
In  Munich  we  saw  a  case  in  which  was  preserved  and  duly 
labelled  a  bone  from  each  one  of  the  twelve  disciples  of  our 
Lord,  and  having  seen  this  select  assortment,  my  curiosity  is 


A  CHURCH  AND  A  PICTURE.  229 

not  excited   by  any  subsequent   demonstrations  in   sacred 
anatomy. 

"THE  LAST  SUPPER." 

Twenty-four  years  ago  I  came  to  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  delle  Grazie  in  Milan,  to  see  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
greatest  painting,  and  perhaps  the  most  celebrated  picture 
ever  made.  It  is  on  the  wall  of  the  refectory  of  the  Domini 
can  convent  attached  to  the  church.  It  was  then  fading 
away,  and  I  wrote  of  it :  "  It  is  now  nearly  gone,  and  the 
next  generation  will  know  it  only  in  history."  But  I  have 
come  here  with  some  of  that  next  generation  to  see  it  once 
more,  and  find  it  as  it  was,  if  anything  less  dim  and  indis 
tinct  than  then.  Two  young  men  who  were  with  me  then, 
are  now,  I  trust,  with  their  Saviour  and  mine.  I  remember 
how  deep  were  their  emotions  as  they  looked  on  this  face  of 
the  ideal  Jesus,  the  only  face  in  which  are  blended  the 
majesty  and  love  we  would  see  presented  in  a  portrait  of  the 
Man  of  Sorrow  and  the  King  of  Kings.  Very  few  persons 
can  say  they  have  seen  it  twice  with  an  interval  of  a  quarter 
of  a  century.  It  is  therefore  well  to  bear  this  testimony  that 
no  perceptible  change  has  come  over  it  in  these  long  years. 
In  the  centuries  that  have  elapsed  since  it  was  painted  on 
the  wall,  the  room  has  been  used  and  abused  so  shamefully 
that  the  preservation  of  the  picture  is  almost  miraculous. 
The  storms  of  heaven  and  the  tempests  of  war  have  beaten 
in  upon  it.  Horses  have  been  stabled  on  the  floor,  and 
ignorant  monks  have  cut  a  door  through  the  painting  itself. 
Dampness  and  neglect  might  long  since  have  destroyed  it, 
but  it  survives,  and  more  glorious  in  its  ruin  than  the  Par 
thenon  or  the  Colosseum,  it  still  displays  the  loftiest  and 
best  human  conception  of  the  Man  Divine. 

It  is  not  probable  that  I  shall  ever  see  it  again.  But  there 
is  a  nobler  temple  than  the  Milan  cathedral :  and  this  won 
derful  picture  is  not  an  image  of  the  Heavenly ! 

"  There  the  dear  Man,  my  Saviour,  sits, 
The  God  !  how  bright  he  shines  !" 

When  shall  I  wake  and  find  me  there. 


230  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


AMPHITHEATRES  AND  THEATRES. 

The  old  Romans — I  mean  the  Romans  of  old — were  great 
builders.  When  we  put  up  a  ricketty  wooden  building  that 
will  furnish  seats  to  five  or  ten  thousand  people,  we  think 
we  have  done  something.  But  in  the  amphitheatre  of  Milan 
thirty  thousand  people  could  have  reserved  seats  around  an 
arena  in  which  an  army  could  stand.  When  it  was  flooded 
with  water,  mimic  naval  battles  were  fought  in  the  presence 
of  the  multitude.  Its  stone  seats  and  terraces  in  which  seats 
were  placed,  have  been  preserved,  restored  indeed  from  time 
to  time,  so  that  it  is  now  the  finest  circus  ground,  perhaps, 
in  the  world.  Fetes  are  celebrated  in  honor  of  distinguished 
visitors  with  as  much  splendor  as  when  the  builders  were  the 
masters  of  Milan.  Frederick  Barbarossa  laid  the  city  in 
ruins  in  the  year  1162,  and  whether  the  amphitheatre  was 
built  before  or  after,  I  have  no  means  at  hand  of  ascer 
taining. 

At  Verona  is  the  best  preserved  specimen  of  an  ancient 
Roman  amphitheatre.  It  dates  in  the  reign  of  Titus,  who 
destroyed  Jerusalem.  It  has  therefore  stood  during  all  the 
centuries  of  the  Christian  dispensation.  It  is  an  ellipse, 
five  hundred  and  ten  feet  long  and  four  hundred  and  twelve 
feet  wide  at  the  middle  of  it :  forty  tiers  of  solid  stone  rose, 
one  above  the  other,  on  which  25,000  spectators  sat,  every 
one  of  whom  could  see  the  whole  of  the  wide  arena  below. 
It  was  open  to  the  sky :  and  in  this  delightful  climate  there 
is  less  need  of  a  roof  than  in  colder  regions  where  there  are 
more  frequent  rains.  Beneath  the  tiers  of  stone  seats,  which 
rise  1 20  feet  from  the  arena,  there  are  dens  and  dungeons  for 
wild  beasts,  and  captives  and  convicts,  and  all  the  prepara 
tions  necessary  for  "  a  Roman  holiday."  In  this  arena  the 
city  was  regaled  with  sports  that  met  their  tastes,  and  these 
were  such  as  required  the  shedding  of  blood.  The  gladiators 
who  fought  to  the  death  made  the  play  in  which  the  people 
most  delighted.  A  convict  sentenced  to  contend  with  wild 
beasts,  as  Paul  did,  would  get  praise  for  himself,  and  please 


AMPHITHEATRES  AND    THEATRES.  231 

the  populace,  if  he  fought  bravely  with  a  lion  from  the 
African  desert.  And  in  the  dens  of  this  old  theatre  beasts 
were  held,  and  the  alleys  are  as  perfect  now  as  they  were  when 
the  hungry  lions  rushed  through  them,  leaping  into  the 
arena  for  the  Christian  martyrs  whom  they  tore  limb  from 
limb.  The  sand  drank  up  the  blood  of  the  saints,  and  a 
modern  circus  or  a  troop  of  mountebanks  now  make  a  few 
hundred  people  merry  where  thousands^  once  applauded  to 
the  echo  when  some  brave  fellow's  life-blood  oozed  upon  the 
ground. 

The  Colosseum  at  Rome  had  seats  for  eighty  thousand. 
It  is  the  most  imposing  monument  remaining  of  Old  Rome. 
Its  history  is  a  part  of  the  history  of  the  Church  and  of  the 
world.  Its  dedication  'cost  the  lives  of  5,000  beasts  and 
10,000  men  who  were  killed  in  the  games  that  amused  the 
people  and  consecrated  the  theatre,  in  the  first  century  of 
the  Christian  era!  What  hecatombs  of  human  sacrifices 
were  here  offered!  How  often  the  martyrs  went  up  to 
heaven  from  this  arena  in  sight  of  a  heathen  multitude  amused 
with  their  dying  struggles,  but  unconscious  of  the  joy  that 
martyrs  knew  in  the  midst  of  agonies  unspeakable. 

I  have  mentioned  these  three  amphitheatres  as  the  great 
est  examples  remaining  of  the  places  of  amusement  which 
civilized  people  enjoyed  one  and  two  thousand  years  ago,  for 
the  sake  of  contrasting  them  with  the  entertainments  of 
modern  times.  The  ancients  did  not  confine  themselves  to 
gladiatorial  fights  and  human  sacrifices.  They  had  their 
stage,  on  which  tragedy,  comedy,  and  music  make  entertain 
ment  for  those  who  enjoy  more  artistic  and  aesthetic  pleas 
ures  than  the  arena  affords.  Roscius,  who  was  the  Garrick 
of  Rome  when  Cicero  was  its  greatest  orator,  boasted  that 
he  could  express  an  idea  more  vividly,  and  with  greater 
variety  of  form,  by  signs  or  gestures,  than  the  master  of 
eloquence  could  with  words.  The  stage  was  popular  in 
Rome,  and  so  it  was  in  Athens,  when  the  Olympic  games 
drew  hundreds  of  thousands  to  see  the  races.  The  plays  of 
the  great  masters,  which  scholars  read  in  our  day  with  as 
much  satisfaction  as  they  had  to  whom  they  were  first  pre- 


232  IRENALUS  LETTERS. 

sented, — those  creations  of  Euripides  and  Eschylus,  not  to 
speak  of  Aristophanes, — were  performed  in  the  open  air,  on 
marble  platforms,  in  the  midst  of  applauding  thousands.  The 
performance  of  any  one  of  them,  in  a  good  English,  French, 
German  or  Italian  translation,  would  empty  any  theatre  in 
New  York,  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  or  Italy,  sooner  than  read 
ing  the  riot  act  would  disperse  a  mob.  They  were  given  in 
the  daytime,  when  business  might  be  supposed  to  occupy  the 
people  ;  and  it  is  doubtful  if  the  best  of  Shakespeare's  plays 
would  draw  a  crowd  in  the  daytime  in  New  York  or  London. 
It  might  in  Boston,  where  Mr.  J.  T.  Fields's  friend  says 
there  are  not  twenty  men  living  who  could  have  written 
Shakespeare's  plays. 

In  ancient  Rome,  and  in  other  cities,  the  entertainments 
in  the  amphitheatre  were  often  given  to  the  people  at  the 
expense  of  candidates  for  office,  who  thus  made  themselves 
popular  with  the  masses.  Immense  sums  of  money  were 
spent  in  this  catering  to  the  vulgar  herd.  It  paid  very  well, 
as  it  does  now,  though  the  money  is  expended  in  other  ways. 
Great  men,  in  those  days  of  old,  took  pride  in  competing  for 
victory  in  the  arena  with  common  wrestlers  and  fighters, 
just  as  a  nobleman  now  and  then  rides  his  own  horse  in  a 
race,  with  trained  jockeys  on  the  other  horses.  A  few  days 
ago,  at  Paris,  one  of  the  nobility  did  so :  was  convicted  of 
cheating,  too,  and  sentenced  to  abstain  from  racing  for  one 
year !  And  this  brings  us  naturally  to  compare  the  old-time 
pastimes  with  the  present,  and  to  ask  wherein  we  have  made 
improvement. 

Human  life  is  more  sacred  now  in  the  eyes  of  all  civilized 
peoples  than  it  was  when  blood  was  shed  in  sport  to  enter 
tain  the  multitude.  In  Spain  the  people  still  love  to  see 
blood  flow,  and  if  it  be  the  blood  of  a  man  or  a  bull  they 
care  very  little  which,  provided  it  comes  in  a  good  square, 
stand-up  fight.  But  Spain  is  far  behind  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  persecutes  the  Protestant  saints,  and  rejoices  in  bloody 
sports.  When  she  learns  enough  of  the  Christian  religion 
to  let  the  people  worship  God  as  they  please,  she  will  also 
abolish  the  bull-ring.  That  peculiar  institution  is  the  near- 


AMPHITHEATRES  AND    THEATRES.  233 

est  approach  to  these  old  Italian  gladiatorial  and  wild  beast 
fights  now  left  in  Europe,  and  is  gradually  declining.  But 
when  we  keep  away  from  partially-civilized  Spain,  we  find 
the  people  amusing  themselves  mainly  in  three  different 
ways :  they  may  run  together  somewhat,  and  the  lovers  of 
one  sort  may  take  to  the  others,  but,  with  one  or  the  other 
of  them,  the  great  mass  of  people  who  live  for  pleasure  find 
their  delight :  they  find  it  in  drinking  exhilarating  bever 
ages,  in  frequenting  theatres,  or  in  horse-racing.  How  much 
intemperance  in  drink  prevailed  in  the  days  of  Augustus 
Caesar  we  may  not  know.  There  was  enough,  no  doubt. 
Bacchus  had  worshippers  uncounted.  But  no  American  has 
any  adequate  conception  of  the  amount  of  drinking  for  the 
pleasure  of  it :  drinking  beyond  the  wants  of  life  :  social  and 
jovial  drinking:  till  he  travels  in  Europe.  The  statistics  of 
intemperance  in  the  United  States  show  that  we  are  as  hard- 
drinking  a  people  as  there  is,  but  we  must  go  to  the  German 
beer-gardens  in  New  York,  and  the  haunts  of  our  foreign 
population,  to  see  how  fearfully  and  freely  men  drink.  And 
when  we  travel  in  Europe  the  drinking  is  so  largely  done 
out-of-doors,  •  or  in  such  public  places  as  to  be  always  in 
sight.  In  Germany  it  is  horrible  beyond  exaggeration.  In 
many  of  the  railway  stations,  the  only  waiting-room  pro 
vided  is  filled  with  tables  and  chairs  for  the  beer  guzzlers, 
men  and  women.  "  The  inevitable  beer-garden"  becomes  a 
familiar  remark  as  we  visit  a  palace  or  a  ruin,  and  find  the 
little  tables  and  chairs  inviting  us  to  be  refreshed.  The 
Italians  drink:  the  French  drink:  the  English  drink  beer 
immensely :  the  Irish  and  Scotch  their  whisky :  but  the  beer 
drinking  of  Germany  excels  them  all. 

One  thing  I  have  learned  about  the  theatres  and  operas  in 
their  favor:  they  begin  the  evening  performance  at  an  early 
hour  in  Germany,  sometimes  at  half-past  six,  often  at  seven, 
and  get  through  before  or  by  ten  o'clock.  This  is  so  far,  so 
good.  Of  the  character  of  the  performances  I  can  speak 
only  from  the  handbills  and  reports ;  but  they  are  as  in  the 
United  States,  no  better,  no  worse,  and  often  the  same. 
Adelina  Patti  is  coming  to  Milan  next  week  to  open  the 


234  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

opera  season,  and  she  sings  in  "  La  Traviata"  as  the  begin 
ning  :  what  will  be  the  end  ?  What  may  be  called  the  legiti 
mate  drama  is  as  dead  in  Europe  as  it  is  in  the  United  States. 
The  million  do  not  care  a  straw  for  a  moral  or  sensible  play  : 
it  is  amusement  they  want,  and  there  is  no  fun  in  being 
instructed.  But  there  are  more  theatres  now  than  ever,  and 
in  Paris  and  Vienna  (I  believe)  the  stage  receives  partial 
support  from  the  government  as  the  Church  does.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  the  theatre  is  more  demoralizing  at  this 
moment,  than  the  amphitheatre  was  when  the  sand  was 
soaked  with  human  gore,  and  the  death  of  men,  women,  and 
wild  beasts  made  the  amusement  of  the  populace. 

The  horse  race  is  fast  becoming  a  general  popular  amuse 
ment  in  the  United  States,  but  it  has  not  there  attained  the 
position  it  holds  in  Europe.  The  British  Parliament,  the 
most  dignified  legislative  body  in  the  world,  adjourns  over  a 
day  every  year  to  permit  its  members  to  attend  a  horse  race. 
The  American  Congress  has  never  yet  manifested  so  much 
interest  in  the  subject.  The  pious  Emperor  of  Germany,  80 
years  old,  honors  Baden-Baden  with  his  presence  when  the 
great  horse-races  of  the  year  take  place.  The  French 
Emperor  or  President  always  attends,  and  on  Sunday.  It  is 
well  known  in  England  and  France  that  no  race  occurs  with 
out  the  vilest  cheating :  and  when  we  know  that  Lord  Fal- 
mouth  has  pocketed  $150,000  this  season,  by  winning  bets  on 
horses,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  it  pays  to  bribe  a  jockey  with 
even  $25,000  to  let  his  horse  get  beaten.  Nothing  is  done  at 
Newcastle  or  at  Epsom  that  is  not  done  on  a  smaller  scale  at 
Jerome  Park,  and  the  morals  of  the  people  are  quite  as  much 
exposed  to  corruption,  in  the  cruel  and  immoral  sport  of 
horse-racing,  as  they  were  in  the  ancient  bloody  games  of  the 
amphitheatre. 

"  Hence  we  view"  that  things  have  improved  a  little,  not 
much,  since  the  days  of  the  Caesars.  There  are  more  good 
people  now,  and  the  wicked  people  are  not  quite  so  fierce 
and  bloody :  but  the  great  mass  of  mankind  who  want  amuse 
ment,  instead  of  instruction,  and  who  go  about  to  find  it, 
are  little  better  in  their  tastes  or  morals  than  they  were  two 
thousand  years  ago. 


A    CONVENT  ON    THE   SEA. 


A    CONVENT    ON    THE    SEA. 

"  There  is  a  glorious  city  in  the  sea, 
The  sea  is  in  the  broad,  the  narrow  streets, 
Ebbing  and  flowing ;   and  the  salt  sea-weed 
Clings  to  the  marble  of  her  palaces. 
No  track  of  men,  no  footsteps  to  and  fro, 
Lead  to  her  gates."  — Rogers. 

Among  the  hundred  islands  around  and  under  Venice,  not 
one  has  a  more  remarkable  history  than  San  Lazaro. 

The  story  of  Venice  is  too  familiar  for  recital.  The  bar 
barous  Huns  came  down  upon  Venitia,  and  the  people  hid 
away  among  the  islands  of  the  great  lagoon  that  sets  up  from 
the  Adriatic  Sea.  Seventy-two  of  these  islands  were  so  near 
each  other  that  the  houses  were  separated  only  by  narrow 
streams.  These  were  soon  canals :  boats  and  bridges  made 
them  all  into  one  great  city :  palaces  arose  with  the  rising 
prosperity  of  the  place;  a  peculiar  city,  every  house  in  it 
being  accessible  by  land  and  water.  The  remoter  islands 
were  sites  for  public  buildings,  fortresses  and  asylums.  Float 
ing  in  the  water,  in  the  far  eastern  quarter  of  the  great  lagoon, 
is  the  isle  of  Saint  Lazarus.  As  far  back  in  time  as  A.  D. 
1182,  it  was  used  as  a  hospital  for  lepers  coming  from  the 
East.  Lazarus  was  the  patron  saint  of  such  people,  and  the 
island  took  his  name.  By-and-by  this  disease  ceased  to  be  a 
plague,  and  the  island  became  a  desert.  And  so  it  remained 
for  centuries  :  a  wilderness  in  the  midst  of  isles  of  beauty,  as 
fair  a  spot  as  the  sun  shines  on,  but  with  the  taint  of  the  leper 
upon  it,  and  so  left  alone  in  the  sea. 

Five  hundred  years  roll  along,  and  a  dozen  wayfaring  men 
of  the  East,  speaking  an  Oriental  tongue,  and  wearing  the 
garb  of  an  order  of  Monks  unknown  in  Venice,  came  to  this 
city  and  asked  its  hospitality.  They  had  a  strange  story  to 
tell.  The  hearts  of  strangers  opened  to  the  pilgrims,  and 
they  were  taken  kindly  in.  Their  leader,  Mekhitar,  was  an 
Armenian,  born  in  Asia  Minor.  In  childhood  he  was  taught 
by  the  Monks  of  Garmir-Vauk.  He  grew  up  to  be  a  priest, 


236  IR&NEUS  LETTERS. 

and  travelling  widely  in  Asia,  he  preached  the  Christian 
religion,  especially  to  the  Armenians.  His  sacrifices  and 
toils  in  this  service  were  marvellous.  At  length  he  went  to 
Constantinople,  and,  being  compelled  to  leave,  he  retired  to 
the  Convent  of  Passen,  near  to  his  native  place.  Here  he 
rose  to  be  a  distinguished  teacher;  a  wonderful  example  of 
heroism  in  the  midst  of  the  plague.  Again  he  appeared  in 
the  city  of  the  Sultans,  preaching  the  union  of  all  sects  in 
the  Church  of  Rome.  And  when  they  would  not  listen 
to  his  words,  he  formed  a  society  of  men  of  his  way  of  think 
ing,  and  set  up  a  printing  press  to  issue  good  books  among 
the  people  of  the  East.  His  piety  and  labours  excited  per 
secution,  and  he  fled  with  his  companions,  to  the  Grecian 
Morea,  then  under  the  Venetian  government.  At  Modon  a 
regular  order  was  founded,  with  a  convent  and  church.  But 
the  Turks  came  down  upon  the  Morea  with  fire  and  sword, 
and  drove  the  Monks  of  Modon  from  their  home,  which  was 
plundered  and  destroyed.  They  took  refuge  on  a  Venetian 
vessel  and  begged  a  passage  to  the  city  long  known  as  the 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic,  and  the  favorite  of  St.  Mark.  They 
found  a  welcome  in  the  Republic  of  Venice.  To  the  new  Order 
of  Monks,  thus  suddenly  introduced,  the  Senate  granted  this 
desolate  island.  There,  on  the  spot  where,  five  centuries 
before,  only  lepers  had  a  home,  these  persecuted  and  weary 
wanderers  pitched  their  tents,  and  were  at  rest.  Some  ruins 
of  old  buildings  remained,  and  these  were  patched  up  for 
temporary  use.  In  1740  the  new  monastery  was  completed, 
and  the  monks  were  able  to  pursue  with  vigor  and  success 
the  benevolent  work  to  which  their  lives  are  devoted.  In 
this  calm  retreat,  on  an  island  every  foot  of  which  is  covered 
by  their  convent  and  its  gardens,  in  sight  of  the  most  pic 
turesque  and  strangely  beautiful  city  of  the  world,  these 
brethren  live,  labour,  die,  and  are  buried.  They  do  not  lead 
a  life  of  idleness.  Teaching,  preaching  abroad,  writing  and 
printing,  they  are  spreading  knowledge  among  the  Armenians 
in  the  East,  to  whom  they  send  trained  men  and  the  books 
they  publish. 

I  have  just  returned  from  an  excursion  to  this  island  mon- 


A    CONVENT  ON   THE   SEA.  237 

astery.  Descending  the  marble  steps  of  the  hotel  that  lead 
into  the  water,  we  take  our  seats  in  a  gondola,  the  water 
carriage  of  Venice.  Silently,  smoothly  and  swiftly  we  are 
borne  out  into  the  lagoon.  The  sun  in  the  East  is  lighting 
up  every  marble  palace,  and  dome,  and  pinnacle,  and  tower. 
The  city,  as  we  recede  from  it  toward  the  sea,  blooms  with 
beauty,  and  makes  real  the  idea  of  the  poet  that  it  is  a  flower 
on  the  sea.  We  glide  softly  to  the  landing  steps  at  the  gar 
den  of  the  convent.  A  monk,  in  the  black  gown  and  leathern 
girdle  of  his  Order,  bids  us  welcome.  Kindly  he  leads  us  into 
the  house,  and  presently  to  the  library.  It  is  rich  in  manu 
scripts  and  Oriental  books.  Portraits  and  busts,  and  monu 
ments  of  illustrious  men,  adorn  the  halls  and  the  walls.  An 
cient  coins,  papyrus,  a  veritable  Egyptian  mummy,  copies  of 
all  the  books  ever  printed  here,  are  shown.  We  were  led 
into  the  printing  office,  where  compositors  were  busy  setting 
type  in  the  Eastern  languages.  They  use  only  the  old-fash 
ioned  hand  presses,  and  probably  never  saw  one  driven  by 
steam  power.  The  room  was  small,  the  typesetters  few.  An 
air  of  perfect  repose  pervaded  the  place.  It  would  take  two 
months  at  least  to  issue  one  edition  of  the  New  York-Observer 
with  this  force.  As  I  looked  on,  I  thought  of  the  fits  Mr. 
Cunningham  (our  printer)  would  have  if  things  moved  at 
that  rate  in  the  office,  37  Park  Row. 

In  the  refectory,  tables  were  set  for  about  fifty  persons: 
very  neatly  were  they  laid,  with  bread  and  a  bottle  of  native 
wine  at  each  plate.  All  eat  here  in  common,  and  in  perfect 
silence,  while  one  of  the  brethren  stands  in  a  pulpit  and  reads 
aloud  the  Bible.  A  notice  above  the  door  bids  all  to  be 
silent  and  hear  the  word  of  God. 

There  are  only  a  dozen  resident  monks.  They  receive 
students  from  the  East,  who  come  at  the  age  of  about  twelve, 
stay  the  same  number  of  years,  pursue  a  course  of  literature 
and  theology,  and  then  go  back  to  their  native  countries  as 
priests  and  teachers.  Thirty  youths  are  thus  in  a  constant 
course  of  training.  The  monks  also  keep  up  a  college  in  the 
city  of  Venice,  and  one  in  Paris.  Some  of  them  are  sent 
on  missionary  tours  through  foreign  countries.  The  works 


238  IRsENEUS  LETTERS. 

they  publish  are  in  many  tongues,  and  some  are  of  great 
value. 

The  Armenians  are  divided  in  their  religious  faith,  a  part 
adhering  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  to  which  section 
these  Mekhitarists  belong.  When  the  monasteries  of  Italy 
were  suppressed,  this  one  alone  was  suffered  to  go  on  with 
its  work.  All  the  rest  were  merely  consuming  without  pro 
ducing,  and  so  were  a  burden  and  a  nuisance.  This  one  con 
sumes  little  and  produces  much. 

When  the  Monk  had  shown  us  through  the  apartments, 
he  asked  us  to  inscribe  our  names  in  the  visitors'  register. 
Kings  and  emperors  had  written  theirs,  philosophers  and 
great  travellers,  poets,  our  Bryant  among  them,  and  Byron, 
who  in  one  of  his  freaks,  spent  six  months  in  the  convent 
studying  the  Armenian  language.  As  we  walked  out  into  the 
garden,  the  Father  plucked  the  flowers  freely,  and  gave  to 
each  of  the  ladies  of  the  party  a  bouquet,  as  a  souvenir  of  the 
Convent  on  the  Sea. 


A  CEMETERY  BENEATH  A  CEMETERY. 

"A  waking  dream  awaits  us.     At  a  step 
Two  thousand  years  roll  backward." 

— Rogers'  Italy. 

The  city  of  Bologna  is  widely  known  for  its  sausages,  yet 
no  one  city  of  Italy  has  produced  more  men  of  renown  in  the 
finer  arts.  Domenichino's  works  fairly  rival  Raphael's.  An- 
nibale  and  Ludivico  Carracci,  brothers,  were  born  here  and 
when  the  latter  became  too  proud  to  admit  his  humble 
parentage,  Annibale  made  a  picture  of  their  father  on  his 
bench  threading  a  needle,  and  sent  it  to  his  brother.  Guido 
Reni  was  a  native  of  this  city,  and  few  masters  have  a  brighter 
fame  than  he :  then  there  were  others  scarcely  less  brilliant 
than  they,  Albana,  Guercino  and  Lanfranca,  and  one  of 
the  greatest  of  sculptors,  a  giant  and  the  maker  of  giants, 
Giovanni,  or  John  of  Bologna. 


A    CEMETERY  BENEATH  A    CEMETERY.       239 

In  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  the  works  of  these  and 
other  illustrious  men  are  exhibited,  and  the  city  may  well  be 
proud  of  its  own  productions.  It  is  a  very  ancient  town.  Its 
freshness  is  the  result  of  a  goodly  custom  that  might  well  be 
imitated  :  it  is  divided  into  parishes,  and  once  in  ten  years 
each  parish  has  a  festival ;  some  in  one,  some  in  another 
year  ;  at  which  time  every  house  in  the  parish  is  put  in  good 
order,  cleansed  externally,  and  then  decorated  with  banners, 
crosses  and  flowers.  Thus  the  whole  city  once  in  every  ten 
years  is  made  as  good  as  new. 

Its  university  has  been  famous  since  its  foundation.  It 
claims  to  be  the  mother  of  all  universities,  being  itself  born 
in  1119,  making  it  more  than  750  years  old.  It  had  10,000 
students  in  the  year  1216.  The  city  of  Prague  had  at  one 
time  40,000  students  in  its  University,  which  was  founded  in 
1350.  This  one  at  Bologna  had  female  professors,  as  well  as 
men,  and  among  the  lady  teachers  was  Novella,  daughter  of 
the  learned  lawyer  Andreas,  a  woman  so  beautiful  that,  when 
she  delivered  her  lectures  to  the  students,  she  sat  behind  a 
curtain,  lest  her  beauty  should  divert  the  thoughts  of  the 
young  gentlemen  from  the  lessons  of  law  she  was  laying 
down. 

But  more  remarkable  than  its  130  churches  and  twenty 
convents,  and  uncounted  palaces  and  its  long  arcades,  is  its 
Campo  Santo,  the  cemetery,  which  m  Italy  is  the  Holy  Field, 
as  in  Germany  it  is  God's  Acre.  The  dead  sanctify  the 
ground  in  which  they  lie.  To  disturb  the  dead  is  sacrilege 
in  all  lands.  We  drove  to  the  gate  of  St.  Isaiah,  to  a  covered 
walk,  an  arcade,  leading  in  two  directions :  to  the  left  it  went 
up  a  long  and  winding  way  to  the  summit  of  a  hill,  a  mile  off, 
where  stands  a  church  that  is  named  from  a  picture  fabled 
to  have  been  painted  by  St.  Luke :  to  the  right  is  the  walk 
to  the  Campo  Santo  of  Bologna,  the  most  extensive,  remark 
able,  and  interesting  in  Italy.  An  ancient  Carthusian  mon 
astery,  with  its  corridors  and  cloisters,  its  gardens,  courts  and 
quadrangles,  was  converted  into  this  extraordinary  mauso 
leum.  In  the  open  ground,  under  the  bright  skies,  interments 
are  made,  but  no  monuments  are  there  set  up.  The  enclosed 


24°  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

marble  halls  and  low  galleries  are  filled  with  statues  and 
other  monuments  of  the  dead.  Rich  families  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  magnificence  and  costliness  of  these  luxurious 
memorials  of  their  departed  friends.  Some  of  them  are 
exceedingly  elaborate  and  beautiful,  the  highest  skill  of 
modern  art  being  exhausted  in  their  production.  Many  fam 
ilies  distinguished  in  letters,  in  arts,  in  arms  :  men  of  eminence 
as  professors,  and  women  illustrious  for  their  benevolence, 
are  here  presented  in  marble  that  seems  to  breathe  the  names 
and  virtues  of  their  original.  These  galleries  of  sculpture 
are  perhaps  miles  in  length,  and  to  walk  through  them  all 
was  more  than  our  strength  would  allow.  Filled  with  won 
der  and  admiration,  we  were  yet  to  learn  a  greater  wonder 
than  we  had  seen. 

In  making  excavations  for  this  cemetery,  it  was  found  that 
the  grounds  of  the  old  monastery  covered  another  cemetery, 
more  than  twenty  feet  below  the  surface,  and  dating  to  a 
period  in  the  distance  to  which  no  records  refer.  Here  was  a 
cemetery  beneath  a  cemetery :  the  dead  of  one  age  pressing 
upon  the  dead  of  forgotten  ages.  As  soon  as  the  fact  was 
ascertained,  the  work  of  excavation  was  cautiously  conducted, 
with  exceedingly  interesting  and  important  results.  These 
results  were  transferred  to  the  Museum,  where  I  have  just 
been  studying  them  with  profound  astonishment  and  instruc 
tion. 

The  Roman-pagan  ideas  of  the  departed  are  here  exhibited, 
as  if  the  burial  were  taking  place  before  our  eyes,  instead  of 
the  resurrection  of  the  bones  of  the  dead.  Standing  upright 
at  the  head  of  perfect  skeletons,  were  grave-stones  on  which 
Latin  inscriptions,  worn  and  wasted  indeed,  are  dimly  visi 
ble,  recording  the  very  name  that  this  anatomy  once  bore, 
when  it  walked  these  streets  and  fields  three  thousand  years 
ago.  The  skeletons  lying  flat  on  their  backs,  their  arms  by 
their  side,  or  crossed  on  the  breast,  as  the  surviving  friends 
preferred,  have  been  taken  up  with  the  clay  bed  on  which  they 
were  found  reposing.  Placed  in  boxes  and  covered  with 
glass,  all  the  surroundings  restored  as  they  were  when  the 


A    CEMETERY  BENEATH  A    CEMETERY.       24! 

discovery  was  made,  we  are  able  to  read  with  admiring  eyes 
these  records  of  the  dead  past,  so  strangely  brought  to  view. 
We  know  that  the  heathen  mythology  of  the  Augustan  age, 
and  long  before  that  era,  recognized  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  and  the  pains  and  pleasures  of  the  evil  and  the  good  in 
the  future  state.  The  river  Styx  was  to  be  crossed  by  every 
soul  in  a  boat,  which  Charon  rowed,  and  each  passenger 
paid  him  a  piece  of  money  called  an  obolus.  In  the  hand  of 
the  dead  was  placed  this  coin  to  pay  the  ghostly  ferryman. 
And  now  in  the  palm  of  each  of  these  skeletons  lies  the 
money.  Women  still  wear  the  necklaces  that  adorned  them: 
braclets  clasp  their  wrists,  and  the  silver  or  golden  brooch 
rests  to-day  on  the  breast  that  has  been  cold  these  thirty 
centuries.  Even  the  rings  with  which  they  were  buried  are 
visible  on  the  bones  of  their  fingers. 

A  mother  and  child  are  sleeping  side  by  side  in  the  same 
bed  of  clay.  The  teeth  are  as  white  and  perfect  as  when 
they  last  dined.  And  there  were  no  unsound  teeth  among 
them.  Cups  and  ornamented  dishes  of  various  kinds,  some 
appearing  to  have  contained  food  for  the  dead,  were  found 
near  to  the  bones,  and  now  stand  by  them.  One  skeleton 
had  its  head  distorted,  and  if  laid  out  straight  would  be  seven 
feet  long.  But  they  were  mostly  of  the  ordinary  size,  and 
all  of  them  preserved  as  if  the  clay  had  some  peculiar  quality 
to  prevent  decay. 

This  discovery  was  made  in  1870,  and  the  explorations 
have  been  carried  on  from  time  to  time,  not  yet  being  com 
pleted.  The  director  of  the  Museum,  Dr.  Kminek-Szedlo, 
was  exceedingly  kind  in  bringing  the  curious  phases  of  this 
resurrection  to  my  notice.  He  reads  the  hieroglyphic 
inscriptions  on  the  Egyptian  coffins  and  papyrus,  speaks  so 
many  languages  that  he  is  worthy  to  be  the  successor  of  the 
polyglot  Mezzofanti,  who  was  once  Librarian  here,  and  whose 
bust  and  eulogy  perpetuate  his  fame.  It  is  well  known  that 
he  was  able  to  speak  fluently  more  than  forty  languages,  and 
was  the  greatest  linguist  of  whom  the  world  has  knowledge. 

Dr.  Szedlo  called  my  attention  also  to  another  revelation 


242  JRENJEUS  LETTERS. 

from  the  earth  beneath  Bologna,  within  the  present  year. 
In  February  last  a  discovery  was  made  of  a  smelting-house  or 
foundry  far  below  the  present  surface  of  the  ground.  Out 
of  it  have  already  been  taken  thousands  of  instruments  of 
iron.  Some  of  them,  hatchets,  knives,  spears,  swords  or 
sabres,  sickles,  &c.,  are  common  now.  Others  are  pre-historic, 
and  no  one  can  say  for  what  purpose  they  were  made.  If  one 
of  them  had  been  found  alone  in  a  cave  or  gravel  pit,  it  would 
perhaps  have  been  regarded  as  pre-adamite.  And  these 
relics  of  past  ages,  in  the  midst  of  a  city  and  country  where 
art  and  learning  have  flourished  without  decay  for  successive 
centuries,  while  the  people  have  been  all  unconscious  of  their 
existence  under  foot,  furnish  one  of  the  most  important  chap 
ters  on  the  short-sightedness  of  the  wisest  of  living  men.  In 
the  mtdst  of  civilization,  one  entire  age  of  the  human  family 
goes  into  the  grave :  the  earth  itself,  with  no  convulsion,  in 
the  gradual  progress  of  time,  folds  itself  around  and  covers 
over  its  inhabitants :  forests  and  vineyards,  and  new  cities, 
flourish  afresh  over  the  graves,  and  dust,  and  bones  of  former 
peoples,  and  a  University  with  ten  thousand  students  has  not 
a  thought  that  such  populations  are  buried  there. 

Geology  has  scarcely  scratched  the  surface  of  the  earth  it 
professes  to  comprehend.  There  are  mysteries  ten  feet 
underground  that  our  philosophy  never  dreamed  of.  The 
wash  from  the  hill-sides  fills  up  valleys  that  once  teemed 
with  life  and  power,  and  an  earthquake  in  a  night  may  bury  a 
city  till  the  angel  of  the  resurrection  wakes  it  in  its  unknown 
sepulchre.  In  these  countries  that  we  call  old,  I  see  so  much 
of  the  work  and  wreck  of  time,  that  it  teaches  me  the  folly 
of  making  tables  of  chronology  out  of  layers  of  rock  cr  the 
deposit  of  mud.  The  men  and  women,  crumbling  skeletons 
in  the  Museum  of  Bologna,  were  very  silent  in  their  new 
coffins,  but  mighty  eloquent  their  ghastly,  grinning  faces 
were,  in  telling  me  that  one  generation  goeth  and  another 
cometh :  that  what  is  now,  has  been,  and  there  is  noth 
ing  new  under  the  sun.  Years  ago  I  copied  from  an  old 
tombstone  in  the  graveyard  of  Melrose  Abbey,  four  lines 
that  had  been  often  before  repeated  by  Walter  Scott  and 


OUR   WINDOWS  IN  FLORENCE.  243 

others,  but  which  are  still  to  be  studied  for  the  profound 
truth  that  is  hid  within  them; 

The  Earth  walks  on  the  Earth  glittering  with  gold ; 
The  Earth  goeth  to  the  Earth  sooner  than  it  would. 
The  Earth  builds  on  the  Earth  temples  and  towers ; 
The  Earth  says  to  the  Earth, "  All  will  be  ours." 


OUR  WINDOWS  IN  FLORENCE. 

Mrs.  Browning  made  the  house  in  which  she  resided  in 
Florence  famous  by  her  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows."  Mrs,  Jame 
son  wrote  m  the  same  house.  And,  wonderful  to  relate,  I 
had  Mrs.  Browning's  apartment  and  Mrs.  Jameson's  table 
when  I  was  here  ten  years  ago !  But  Casa  Guidi  is  not  so 
well  placed  for  sunlight  as  we  wished,  and  we  therefore  sac 
rificed  the  sentiment  to  the  advantage  of  being  at  home  "  in 
mine  own  inn."  It  was  certainly  a  pleasant  guidance  that 
led  us  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville,  where  we  have  found  delight 
ful  quarters.  If  the  windows  lack  the  romance  of  poetry 
and  art.  they  look  out  upon  waters,  bridges,  towers,  domes, 
hills,  villas,  palaces,  churches,  and  monuments,  that  together 
make  a  panorama  of  unsurpassed  historical  interest.  If  the 
story  were  not  spoiled  in  the  telling,  a  volume  might  easily 
be  made  to  thrill  the  reader,  by  the  simplest  record  of  the 
memories  suggested  by  the  view  from  the  windows  at  which 
I  am  writing  these  lines. 

The  sun  has  just  gone  down.  An  Italian  sunset  in  its 
highest  glory  is  now  before  us.  Serried  ranks  of  clouds  are 
on  fire.  They  are  reflected  from  the  swollen  bosom  of  the 
Arno,  which  glows  and  burns  with  the  last  light  of  day.  All 
the  west  is  filled  with  broken  and  dissolving  rainbows:  piles 
of  purple  and  orange,  and  brilliant  red  hues  and  violet  rays, 
are  heaped  up  there  in  masses  of  rich  coloring,  a  great 
heaven  of  beauty  and  glory,  in  which  the  fading  clouds  float 
like  islands  of  the  blest  in  an  infinite  sea. 


244 


IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 


The  house  is  on  an  open  square,  on  which  stands  one  of 
the  oldest  churches  in  Florence.  Within  it  are  the  ashes 
and  the  tomb  of  the  man  whom  Americans  will  never  forget, 
though  they  regret  that  they  have  such  cause  to  remember 
him.  On  a  marble  slab  in  the  pavement  of  the  chapel,  on 
the  left  of  the  high  altar,  is  this  inscription  : 


He  was  one  of  those  few  fortunate  men  who  get  more  fame 
than  is  their  due.  Americo  Vespuci  followed  in  the  wake  of 
Columbus,  and  having  stumbled  upon  the  coast  of  the 
Western  Continent,  left  his  name  on  the  whole  of  it,  and  it 
remains  to  this  day,  and  will  to  the  end  of  time.  More  fit 
ting  would  it  have  been  to  have  given  the  honor  of  the  New 
World's  name  to  Columbus,  as  it  certainly  belongs  to  him. 
And  here  in  Florence  they  not  only  build  a  tomb  to  Ameri- 
cus  and  treasure  his  bones,  but  they  point  to  the  celebrated 
gnomon  of  the  Duomo  as  the  greatest  astronomical  instru 
ment  in  the  world.  We  are  told  that  this  fine  meridian  was 
traced  as  early  as  1468  by  a  physician  of  Florence,  a  great 
philosopher  and  astronomer,  Toscanelli,  who  corresponded 
with  Christopher  Columbus,  communicated  to  him  the 
results  of  his  penetrating  researches  into  astronomical  science, 
and  persuaded  the  great  navigator  to  try  the  western  passage 
to  India !  Thus  the  Florentines  would  intimate  that  the 
discovery  of  the  Western  World  is  due  to  the  scientific 
researches  of  their  citizen,  Dr.  Toscanelli.  Therefore,  with 


OUR   WINDOWS  IN  FLORENCE.  245 

profound  complacency,  they  garnish  the  sepulchre  of  Amer- 
icus  Vespuci  and  put  the  laurels  of  Columbus  on  the  brows 
of  Toscanelli ! 

Across  the  Arno,  which  flows  beneath  our  windows,  we 
see  many  hills  covered  with  villas,  palaces,  convents  and 
churches ;  but  a  little  tower  in  the  distance,  more  than  all 
else,  attracts  my  attention  whenever  I  look  out  on  this 
splendid  scene.  From  the  stone  on  which  Jacob  slept,  a 
ladder  seemed  to  reach  from  earth"  to  sky.  And  from  that 
lone  tower  the  old  astronomer,  the  prince  of  seers,  by  the 
aid  of  his  telescope,  was  wont  to  bring  the  heavens  very 
near.  On  it  the  old  man  stood  to  make  those  observations 
which  we  study  with  no  less  wonder  to-day  than  his  unbe 
lieving  cotemporaries  did  in  1640.  It  is  well  to  revise  one's 
recollection  of  facts  when  there  is  a  new  association  by 
which  to  fasten  them.  If  you  are  familiar  with  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  you  will  readily  recur  to  the  lines  in  which  he 
writes  that  Satan's  shield 

"  Hung  o'er  his  shoulders  like  the  moon,  whose  orb 
Through  optic  glass  the  Tuscan  artist  views 
At  evening  from  the  top  of  Fiesole, 
Or  in  Val  d'Arno,  to  descry  new  lands, 
Rivers  or  mountains,  in  her  spotty  globe." 

The  Tuscan  artist  was  Galileo,  to  whom  Milton  came  when 
the  astronomer  was  old  and  blind,  a  prisoner  here,  under  the 
ban  of  the  Inquisition,  waiting  for  death  to  come  and  take 
him  above  the  stars. 

Galileo  was  born  at  Pisa,  only  a  few  hours  from  Florence, 
Feb.  15,  1564.  Neither  you  nor  I  believe  in  the  transmigra 
tion  of  souls,  but  we  are  entertained  by  striking  coincidences. 
It  is  asserted  that  Galileo  was  born  the  same  day  and  hour 
when  Michael  Angelo  died  ;  and  when  Galileo  died,  the  year 
was  signalized  by  the  birth  of  Isaac  Newton !  The  world 
never  knew  three  other  men,  in  such  a  succession,  of  such 
transcendent  genius.  Galileo  was  but  a  boy  of  eighteen 
when,  in  his  parish  church,  he  saw  the  chandelier  swinging 
to  and  fro,  and  was  led  to  think  of  a  pendulum  whose  vibra- 


246  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

tions  should  be  a  measure  of  time.  He  was  only  twenty-five 
when  he  took  his  seat  as  Professor  of  Mathematics  in  the 
University  of  Pisa,  his  native  place,  and  there  made  those 
discoveries  in  physics  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  his  astronom 
ical  system.  The  leaning  tower  of  Pisa  is  looked  on  by 
travellers  as  a  curious  problem,  and  perhaps  Galileo  did  not 
know  why  it  was  so ;  but  it  leaned  just  far  enough  for  him 
to  try  his  experiments  with  falling  bodies,  and  if  the  tower 
never  served  any  better  purpose,  it  was  enough  that  it  leaned 
for  him.  He  knew  too  much  for  his  own  peace,  for  he 
proved  that  an  invention  of  a  great  man  was  a  sham,  and 
the  great  man  became  his  enemy  and  caused  the  removal  of 
the  astronomer  to  Padua.  Here  he  was  Professor  for  eigh 
teen  years.  When  he  had  perfected  his  first  telescope  he 
took  it  to  Venice,  and,  from  the  top  of  the  Cathedral  of  St. 
Mark,  looked  into  the  heavens  and  discovered  the  moons  of 
Jupiter.  This  was  in  1609.  He  was  now  54  years  old.  The 
fame  of  his  discoveries,  and  the  effect  of  them  upon  the 
received  opinions  of  the  world,  were  abroad  in  the  earth. 
Science  contended  stoutly  against  him.  Superstition  came 
to  the  aid  of  science  and  made  the  fight  bitter.  How  sorely 
the  good  man  was  tried,  in  the  fifteen  years  that  followed 
these  brilliant  discoveries,  his  published  letters  reveal.  And 
when  the  Jesuits  pretended  that  religion  would  be  over 
turned  if  it  were  proved  that  the  earth  revolves  around  the 
sun,  the  old  astronomer — for  he  was  now  threescore  and 
ten — was  ordered  to  present  himself  at  Rome  and  answer  to 
the  charge  of  teaching  doctrine  opposed  to  the  faith  of  the 
Church.  Into  the  hands  of  the  Inquisition  he  now  was 
thrown.  It  is  not  certain  that  he  was  put  to  the  torture, 
though  a  sentence  in  one  of  his  letters  seems  to  strengthen 
€he  idea  that  he  was.  Probably  he  was  a  man  of  such  sensi 
tive  physical  organization  that  he  could  not  face  the  instru 
ments  of  torture ;  and  without  hesitation  he  admitted  that 
the  earth  stood  still,  rather  than  go  upon  a  wheel  himself. 
That  he  did  sign  a  written  retraction  of  his  opinions  is  quite 
certain.  But  it  is  not  so  certain  that  he  said  "it  does  move, 
nevertheless,"  when  he  rose  from  his  knees,  as  he  is  reported 


OUR  WINDOWS  IN  FLORENCE.  247 

and  generally  believed  to  have  said.  Be  that  as  it  may  be, 
we  know  that  his  recantation  was  not  believed  to  be  sincere, 
and  he  was  condemned  and  consigned  to  imprisonment. 
The  intercession  of  friends  procured  his  release,  and  he  was 
ordered  to  remain  in  duress,  under  the  watch  of  the  Inquisi 
tion,  at  Arcetri,  adjoining  Florence,  where  the  Inquisition 
was  flourishing,  and  abundantly  able  and  willing  to  roast  a 
heretic  at  a  moment's  warning.  The  Galli  family,  to  which 
Galileo  belonged,  had  property  there,  and  the  villa  which  he 
rented,  and  where  he  passed  the  remaining  ten  sad  years  of 
his  life,  still  remains,  and  the  tower  that  bears  his  illustrious 
name.  To  his  house  men  of  learning  and  fame  made  pil 
grimages,  to  see  the  man  who  had  revolutionized  the  system 
of  worlds.  He  toiled  on  in  his  forced  retirement,  writing 
out  those  works  which  could  not  then  be  published  for  fear 
of  Rome,  but  which  have  since  become  the  property  of  man 
kind.  Milton,  a  young  and  ardent  poet,  quite  as  unconscious 
of  his  future  as  Galileo  was  of  his  at  the  same  age,  came  to 
Arcetri,  and  looked  upon  the  glorious  old  man,  who  could 
not  see  him  now,  for  at  the  age  of  74  he  lost  the  sight  of 
those  eyes  that  had  often  looked  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
skies.  He  closed  them  here  in  death  Jan.  8,  1642.  The  men 
of  Florence  gave  him,  as  he  deserved,  a  royal  burial,  and  his 
sepulchre  is  among  them,  in  the  church  of  Santa  Croce,  with 
an  epitaph  that  justly  celebrates  the  greatest  astronomer  of 
any  age. 

Galileo's  instruments  are  carefully  preserved  and  kindly 
exhibited  in  the  great  Museum  of  Natural  Science  in  this 
city.  And  when  you  have  looked  at,  not  through,  his  tele 
scope,  which  is  a  very  poor  affair  compared  with  what  we 
have  in  our  modern  observatories,  and  have  seen  the  won 
derful  preparations  in  wax  of  anatomical  subjects,  giving 
the  minutest  exhibitions  of  the  internal  and  outer  parts 
of  the  human  body, — the  most  complete  and  perfect  thing 
of  the  kind  in  the  world, — you  may  go,  as  I  have  gone 
to-day,  to  the  hill  of  Arcetri,  the  tower  of  Galileo,  to 
the  house  and  room  in  which  he  labored,  suffered  and  died. 
On  no  other  height  have  I  stood  and  been  so  profoundly 


248  I  REN ^E  US  LETTERS. 

impressed  with  sublime  associations,  as  to-day  and  there. 
Leaving  the  carriage  at  the  foot  of  the  last  rise  of  the  hill, 
I  walked  a  few  rods  up  through  a  narrow  alley,  and  came 
suddenly  upon  an  open  space  on  the  very  summit.  An 
ancient,  rustic,  rambling  stone  building,  a  farmer's  place 
apparently,  with  a  rude  tower  on  one  corner,  crowned  the 
hill.  I  came  to  the  door,  and  a  smiling  Italian  peasant 
woman  asked  if  I  would  see  the  interior.  Stepping  into  the 
court  of  the  house,  I  found  on  the  walls  marble  tablets  cov 
ered  with  inscriptions  recording  the  facts  respecting  the 
great  astronomer's  residence  :  the  care  that  had  been  taken 
to  preserve  it  as  it  was  in  his  day.  All  around  were  memo 
rials  of  him  and  the  noble  families  with  whom  he  and  his 
history  are  connected.  I  passed  up  a  flight  of  stone  steps 
into  the  study  of  Galileo !  His  microscope,  his  books,  his 
manuscripts,  his  portrait  painted  from  life,  his  bust,  letters 
to  him  from  illustrious  men,  the  chair  in  which  he  sat,  the 
large  table  at  which  he  wrought,  paper  covered  with  the 
drawings  that  his  own  hands  had  made — all  just  as  if  he  had 
stepped  out  of  his  study  and  ascended  the  tower.  I  went  up 
after  him.  The  steps  were  of  wood,  and  they  and  the  rail 
ing  are  rickety  with  age,  but  they  had  held  great  men,  and 
were  not  to  break  down  with  me.  The  tower  was  not  lofty, 
but,  being  on  a  hill-top,  it  commands  the  whole  horizon  : 
and  such  a  heaven  above  and  such  an  earth  beneath,  sure  in 
no  other  clime  and  land  may  the  eye  rejoice  in.  Not  fair 
Florence  only  or  chiefly  is  the  glory  of  this  scene:  though 
not  a  dome  or  tower  or  palace  in  its  circle  of  splendor  but 
shines  at  my  feet  in  this  brightest  of  sunlight :  but  Tuscany, 
covered  with  vineyards  and  olives,  rich  in  corn  and  wine, 
ten  thousands  of  villas  crowning  and  studding  the  hillsides 
and  plains :  the  Arno  rushing  among  the  walls  of  the  city 
and  coursing  through  the  fields  beyond  :  and  the  whole  cir 
cuit  of  mountains  on  which  the  sky  rests  for  support — the 
Apennines  in  the  north  shutting  off  the  great  world  of 
Europe  and  making,  with  their  sister  Alps,  the  bulwark  of 
Italy.  Yet  it  was  not  this  view  that  Galileo  studied  from 
this  old  tower.  He  did  not  even  look  that  way.  Ad  astro. 


SAN  MINIATO  AND    VALLOMBROSA.  249 

that.  To  the  stars  he  went  and  walked  among  them,  familiar 
with  their  paths,  nor  losing  once  his  way :  he  was  at  home 
when  farthest  from  the  earth  in  quest  of  worlds  till  then 
unknown.  Wonderful  old  man  he  was  !  How  patiently  he 
bore  the  greatest  of  all  afflictions  to  one  who  pursues  the 
stars  !  How  sad  his  fate  to  lose  the  light  of  those  heavens 
in  which  by  sight  he  lived  ! 

Milton  was  young  when  he  came  to  this  blind  old  man. 
Milton  was  blind  before  he  was  old.  And  Milton  saw  more 
of  heavenly  things  after  he  was  blind  than  before.  I  hope 
that  both  of  them  now,  eye  to  eye,  are  beholding  the  invisi 
ble. 


SAN  MINIATO  AND  VALLOMBROSA. 

In  full  view  from  our  windows  is  the  famous  height  of  San 
Miniato.  It  is  crowned  with  a  lovely  and  remarkable  church. 
Its  bell-tower  or  campanile  has  its  history  identified  with  the 
defence  of  Florence  and  the  genius  of  Michael  Angelo. 
When  we  had  come  down  from  the  tower  of  Galileo  to  sub 
lunary  things,  we  rode  among  vineyards  and  olive  groves, 
villas  and  gardens,  until  we  struck  upon  the  magnificent 
boulevard  that  now  leads  from  the  city  to  the  summit  of  San 
Miniato. 

This  boulevard  reminds  me  of  modern  improvements  in 
and  about  New  York  City,  and  the  story  of  it  is  worth  a  few 
lines.  When  the  seat  of  government,  under  Victor  Emanuel, 
was  removed  from  Turin  to  Florence,  it  set  people  and  rulers 
crazy  with  the  idea  that  Florence  was  to  be  the  greatest  city 
in  the  world.  New  houses,  new  streets,  new  parks,  new 
everything,  sprang  into  being  as  if  a  wand  of  enchantment 
was  the  royal  sceptre.  To  borrow  money  for  all  this  was 
easy,  for  the  increase  of  business  was  to  make  everybody 
rich,  and  to  go  in  debt  has  no  terrors  when  wealth  to  pay  it 
with  is  sure  to  come.  Among  other  improvements,  this 
splendid  highway,  winding  up  and  among  these  beautiful  hills, 


250  1RMNMUS  LETTERS. 

was  made,  with  solid  stone  footpaths  on  both  sides  of  it, 
rows  of  trees  planted  the  entire  distance,  gardens  of  exquisite 
beauty  made  at  intervals,  with  fountains,  walks  and  seats, 
marble  stairways  with  costly  embellishments,  and  on  the 
wide  esplanade  at  the  summit  statues  and  other  adornments, 
making  the  way  from  Florence  to  San  Miniato  to  rival  any 
route  in  ancient  Rome,  and  unsurpassed  by  any  pathway  in 
modern  times.  In  a  few  years  the  Court  moved  on  to  Rome, 
and  Victor  Emanuel,  pushing  the  Pope  out  of  the  chair  of 
State  in  which  he  had  no  right  to  sit,  established  himself  in 
the  Quirinal  Palace  in  the  city  profanely  called  "the  eternal." 
The  King  having  departed,  Florence  stock  went  down. 
Everything  went  down  but  the  taxes  and  prices.  All  these 
''improvements"  had  to  be  paid  for,  or  at  least  the  interest 
on  the  debts,  and  the  taxes  now  on  real  estate  amount  often 
to  one  half  of  a  man's  income.  I  have  taken  some  pains 
to  inquire  into  the  methods  and  amount  of  taxation,  and 
have  ascertained  that  Florence  and  New  York  are  the  most 
heavily  burdened  with  taxation  of  any  two  cities  within  my 
knowledge.  And  the  parallel  is  more  complete  when  we 
know  that  this  is  the  result  of  needless,  wasteful  and  unjusti 
fiable  expenditures  in  the  way  of  city  "improvements." 
Public,  like  private,  extravagance  tends  only  to  poverty,  and 
there  is  very  little  pleasure  in  having  a  thing  which  costs 
more  than  it  comes  to,  and  must  be  paid  for.  But  let  us  get 
on,  and  leave  these  people  to  pay  for  the  road:  it  is  a  grand 
one,  any  way,  and  we  will  make  the  most  of  it. 

Years  and  years  ago,  five  hundred,  yes,  more  than  a  thou 
sand  years  ago,  this  hill-top  was  crowned  with  a  church  and 
monastery,  and  in  all  the  intervening  years,  since  the  seventh 
century  at  least,  it  has  been  a  famous  holy  place  to  which 
pilgrims  of  high  and  low  degree  resort.  Once  on  a  time  the 
special  favor  was  granted  of  a  full  and  gracious  indulgence  to 
every  one  who  came  up  here  from  Florence,  on  foot,  on  Fri 
day,  and  said  a  little  prayer.  And  that  day  became  a  great 
day  for  San  Miniato.  Miniato  was  an  Armenian  Prince  in  the 
army  of  the  Roman  Emperor  Decius,  and  being  accused  of 
being  a  Christian,  he  was  thrown  into  the  amphitheatre  to  be 


SAN  MINI  A  TO  AND  VALLOMBROSA.  2  5 1 

devoured  by  a  panther.  But  the  legend  is  that  the  panther 
would  not  touch  him.  The  Roman  army  was  at  that  time 
encamped  on  this  hill  near  Florence.  Miniato  was  then  boiled 
in  a  cauldron,  but  it  didn't  hurt  him.  Then  he  was  hung, 
then  he  was  stoned,  then  he  was  shot  with  javelins.  He  sur 
vived  them  all,  and  was  all  the  more  a  Christian.  Then  he 
was  beheaded,  and  that  killed  him,  A.D.  254.  I  have  read  of 
many  saints  who  could  not  be  put  to  death  in  any  other 
way  than  by  cutting  off  their  heads.  That  almost  always 
was  fatal. 

At  the  time  I  am  now  writing  of,  Florence  was  as  wicked  a 
city  as  the  world  knew.  The  rich  and  the  noble  spent  most 
of  their  time  in  voluptuous  pleasures ;  men  and  women  were 
alike  licentious  and  fond  of  blood.  On  Friday  they  were 
wont  to  go  on  foot,  fair  women  and  brave  men,  on  a  spree  or 
holiday,  making  a  pilgrimage  to  San  Miniato,  where  they  got 
the  sins  of  the  past  week  forgiven,  and  a  new  permit  for  the 
next.  All  the  way  booths  were  set  up  for  the  sale  of  fancy 
goods  and  drinks,  and  the  poor  made  gains  by  selling  to  the 
rich  who  flirted  and  revelled,  courted  and  quarrelled,  as  they 
came  and  went  on  this  pious  pilgrimage. 

Charlemagne  took  great  pains  to  endow  and  improve  this 
place.  Hildebrand,  a  Florentine  bishop,  in  the  nth  century 
rebuilt  the  church,  which  is  now,  with  all  the  riches  and  reli 
gion  of  ten  centuries  since  expended  in  and  about  it,  one  of 
the  most  splendid  monuments  of  sacred  art  and  architecture. 
Its  pillars  and  many  of  its  decorating  marbles  were  brought 
from  ancient  Roman  edifices,  the  pagan  temples  paying 
tribute  to  the  Christian  church;  there  is  no  other  like  this 
in  Italy,  arches  over  the  nave  joining  smaller  arches,  binding 
the  whole :  the  crypt  being  of  more  importance  and  splendor 
than  the  church,  and  on  the  same  level  with  the  main  floor, 
the  sanctuary  being  on  the  floor  above,  reached  by  a  sump 
tuous  marble  stairway.  The  mosaic  over  the  high  altar  re 
minds  us  of  Oriental,  barbaric  gorgeousness.  The  whole 
interior  is  divested  of  the  sense  of  solemnity  and  awe  inspired 
by  the  simple  grandeur  of  less  costly  shrines. 

The  nave  is  wholly  given  up  to  the  burial  of  the  wealthy 


252  tRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

dead,  the  entire  floor  being  made  of  marble  slabs,  grave 
stones  on  which  epitaphs  of  affection  and  respect  are 
inscribed.  Many  of  the  slabs  are  continually  decorated  with 
gaudy  artificial  flowers,  which  admirably  represent  the 
mourning  of  friends  for  friends  long  since  forgotten.  And 
all  around  the  church  are  tombs,  with  some  fine  marble 
monuments.  The  grave  is  built  up  with  brick  and  cement, 
and  the  coffin  let  in,  on  which  the  marble  slab  is  then  placed 
and  secured. 

Michael  Angelo  ought  to  be  the  patron  saint  of  Florence, 
so  fond  are  the  Florentines  of  fastening  his  name  to  every 
thing  they  can,  in  and  about  town.  His  lightest  word  and 
even  his  look  are  kept  on  record  for  the  honor  of  every 
object  that  was  so  fortunate  as  to  win  his  notice.  One  church 
is  called  his  "  Bride."  This  he  called  "  la  bella  Villanela." 
To  a  statue  he  said  "  March,"  and  the  command  is  recorded, 
though  the  statue  has  never  moved  a  step.  But  the  old  bell- 
tower  of  this  church  has  a  right  to  be  called  Michael  Angelo's, 
for  it  bore  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  siege  of  Florence,  which 
occurred  when  he  was  the  leading  man  of  science  and  art  in 
this  city.  It  overlooks  the  city,  and  from  it  the  movements 
of  the  besiegers  could  be  watched  to  great  advantage. 
Against  it  they  directed  their  engines  with  which  huge  stone 
balls  were  hurled:  shaking  the  tower  from  summit  to  base. 
Michael  Angelo  had  charge  of  the  defences  of  the  city,  and, 
with  the  genius  of  Gen.  Andrew  Jackson,  he  had  woollen 
mattresses  suspended  on  the  sides  of  the  tower,  and  these 
protected  it  from  the  shock  and  saved  it  from  destruction. 
The  like  result  followed  the  use  of  bales  of  cotton  at  New 
Orleans,  Jan.  8,  1815. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  1070,  Giovanni  Gualberto  (perhaps 
John  Gilbert),  son  of  one  of  the  noble  and  wealthy  families 
of  Florence,  and  who  had  given  himself  to  wild  and  reckless 
dissipation,  was  one  of  the  many  pilgrims,  on  Good  Friday, 
to  the  shrine  of  San  Miniato.  A  trip  on  foot  to  the  top  of 
the  hill  was  a  pleasure  trip  when,  as  I  have  said,  the 
beauty  and  fashion  of  this  voluptuous  city  made  a  holiday  of 
it,  and  went  in  crowds  to  get  the  forgiveness  of  their  sins, 


SAN  MINIATO  AND    VALLOMBROSA.  253 

and  to  lay  in  a  good  stock  of  indulgences  for  as  many  more. 
It  happened  that  Giovanni's  brother  Hugh  had  had  a  slight 
unpleasantness  with  a  friend,  who  ran  him  through  the  heart 
with  a  dagger ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  Hugh  died  of  the 
wound  in  less  than  no  time.  The  murder  was  no  secret,  but 
the  fight  was  fair,  and  unless  Hugh's  friends  chose  to  avenge 
it,  the  gentlemanly  murderer  would  not  be  troubled  about  it. 
On  this  road  to  San  Miniato  Giovanni  Gualberto  encountered 
the  murderer  of  his  brother,  and  proceeded  to  serve  him  as 
his  brother  had  been  served;  that  is,  to  run  him  through 
with  a  dagger  which  he  drew  for  that  purpose.  The  un 
happy  man  being  unarmed,  and  therefore  quite  unable  to  pro 
tect  himself  against  the  steel  that  was  coming  dangerously 
near  to  his  person,  fell  on  his  knees  before  his  executioner, 
and  extending  both  his  arms  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  begged 
his  enemy  to  remember  that  Christ  died  on  that  sacred  day, 
and  for  His  sake  to  have  pity  on  him  and  spare  his  life. 
This  wild  young  man  dropped  his  dagger,  embraced  his 
brother's  murderer,  and  together  they  went  up  to  the  church, 
and  kneeling  before  the  crucifix,  implored  the  pardon  of 
their  sins.  The  testimony  of  tradition  is  that  the  wooden 
image  bowed  its  head  in  token  of  forgiveness.  And  so 
deeply  was  the  youth  affected  by  the  miracle,  that  he  forsook 
all  his  evil  ways,  and  became  forthwith  a  monk  of  the  monks 
in  the  Convent  of  San  Miniato.  These  monks  proving  to  be 
not  good  enough  for  him  to  keep  company  with,  he  obtained 
permission  to  found  another  monastery,  and  this  he  did  in 
the  delicious  solitude  of  Vallombrosa ! 

What  a  train  of  pleasing  associations  starts  with  the  men 
tion  of  that  sweet  name.  It  is  a  valley  about  a  score  of  miles 
east  of  Florence,  high  among  higher  mountains,  with  a  tor 
rent  rushing  through  it :  the  hillsides  are  clothed  with  forest 
trees,  and  rich  pastures  covered  with  flocks  stretch  into  the 
valley,  which  is  always  green :  forests  of  chestnut,  oak  and 
beech  are  passed  on  entering:  and  the  road  in  the  autumn  is 
covered  deep  with  the  falling  leaves.  When  Milton  visited 
Italy  in  his  youth  he  was  in  this  valley,  as  thousands  of  trav 
ellers  have  been  since,  and  from  it  he  drew  one  of  his  illustra- 


254  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

tions,  now  familiar  as  a  household  word :  he  says  the  rebel 
angels 

"lay  entranced, 

Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 

In  Vallombrosa." 

In  this  secluded  paradise,  far  from  the  world's  vain  strife, 
the  once  gay  and  rollicking  John  Gilbert  came,  and  drawing 
to  his  company  a  few  other  like-minded  brethren,  they  began 
the  life  of  another  kind  of  folly  quite  as  profitless  and  as 
little  pleasing  to  God  as  the  one  they  had  forsaken.  And 
by  and  by  the  monastery  was  married  to  a  convent,  the 
abbess  of  which  granted  the  lands  on  which  the  monastery 
stands.  But,  as  usual,  the  nuns  of  San  Ilaro  so  sadly  forgot 
their  vows,  that  they  had  to  be  removed,  and  the  relation  of 
the  two  institutions  was  dissolved.  The  founder  died  long 
before  this  divorce,  and,  to  the  best  of  our  knowledge,  con 
tinued  to  lead  a  quiet  and  orderly  life  until  his  death,  which 
event  occurred  in  1073,  when  he  was  aged  74  years. 

Two  good  things  are  credited  to  this  monastery  of  Vallom 
brosa.  It  is  said  that  the  monks  were  the  first  to  introduce 
potatoes  into  Tuscany.  That  certainly  was  a  blessing.  I 
never  read  of  monks  doing  a  better  thing.  The  other  bene 
faction  was  the  invention  of  the  sol,  fa,  la,  in  music.  Guido 
Aretino,  a  distinguished  musical  composer,  was  a  member  of 
this  order.  He  first  used  lines  and  spaces  in  writing  music, 
and  made  what  we  call  "  the  stave."  Deacon  Paul,  in  the  8th 
century,  composed  a  Latin  hymn,  which  was  sung  to  a  par 
ticular  tune,  and  as  it  was  often  repeated,  Aretino  observed 
that  the  music  rose  on  the  first  syllable  of  each  half  line, 
regularly,  so  as  to  make  a  gradually  ascending  scale  of  six 
notes :  he  took  those  syllables  and  used  them  as  the  sounds 
for  the  notes :  the  lines  were 


Ut  queant  laxis  /vsonare  fibris 
Jffra.  gestorum  jfomuli  tuorum, 
Sofve  polluti  /abu  reatum, 

Sancte  Johannes  I 


SANTA  CROCE  AND  THE  INQUISITION.         255 

Do  was  afterwards  substituted  for  the  ut,  and  si  was  added, 
so  that  the  scale  is  read 

DO,  RE,  MI,  FA,  SOL,  LA,  SI. 

The  beauty  of  this  valley  is  celebrated,  but  the  season  of 
the  year  when  I  have  been  in  Italy  has  always  been  unfavor 
able  for  a  visit,  and  I  have  never  been  to  Vallombrosa.  But 
I  have  been  to  San  Miniato,  and  the  golden  hues  of  the  set 
ting  sun  are  now  resting  on  its  gates,  and  flooding  our  win 
dows. 


SANTA  CROCE  AND  THE  INQUISITION. 

Florence,  the  beautiful,  had  never  been  darkened  in  my 
mind  by  associations  with  the  Inquisition.  If  I  had  ever 
heard  or  read  of  that  infernal  institution,  the  beloved  off 
spring  and  pet  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  having  its  seat  in 
one  of  the  fairest  churches  in  the  fairest  city  in  the  world, 
the  memory  of  it  had  happily  faded  away.  It  came  upon 
me  as  a  discovery  when  I  found  that  in  Santa  Croce  it  flour 
ished  five  hundred  long  and  dreary  years  :  five  centuries  of 
dark  and  dreadful  wickedness  done  in  God's  name,  wicked 
ness  that  frightens  mankind  to  know  that  such  things  were, 
and  may  be  done  again,  and  will  be,  just  as  soon  as  the  same 
unrepentant  and  unchanging  Church  gets  the  power  to  do 
its  will. 

The  church  is  the  Westminster  Abbey  of  Florence,  only 
so  called  because  it  has  the  monuments  of  a  few  great  men  ; 
the  tomb  of  any  one  of  whom  would  make  a  church  or  city 
famous.  Here  Michael  Angelo  was  brought  to  be  buried  at 
his  own  request.  He  died  at  Rome,  90  years  old,  and  the 
Romans  wished  to  have  him  buried  there,  but  the  Floren 
tines  smuggled  his  remains  to  his  native  city.  In  this  church 
he  lay  in  state,  and  was  then  laid  in  the  tomb  of  his  family, 
the  Buonarotti.  Dante's  tomb  by  Canova  is  magnificent: 


256  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

Alfieri's  also  by  the  same  sculptor ;  here  lies  Machiavelli, 
the  historian  and  politician,  who  taught  deception  and  cun 
ning  as  necessary  to  success  in  public  life.  More  illustrious 
and  worthy  of  renown  than  any  of  them  is  GALILEO,  whose 
name  is  written  among  the  stars.  Here  he  was  buried,  the 
most  of  him  certainly,  though  Vincensio  carried  off  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  as  the  members  with 
which  Galileo  wrote.  The  antiquarian  Gori  stole  another 
finger,  which  is  now  to  be  seen  in  the  Museum  of  Natural 
History.  The  pavement  of  the  church  is  covered  with  mon 
umental  tablets  to  the  memory  of  men  and  women  whose 
names  are  quite  unknown. 

In  a  circle  over  the  main  door  of  entrance  is  the  monogram 
in  stone  I.  H.  S.,  the  familiar  letters  being  the  initials  of 
JESUS  HOMINUM  SALVATOR,  "Jesus  Saviour  of  Men."  There 
is  a  tradition  that  these  letters  were  first  employed  in  this 
connection  by  St.  Bernadine  of  Sienna,  after  the  plague  in 
1437.  He  remonstrated  with  a  maker  of  gambling  cards  for 
pursuing  such  a  trade,  when  the  man  replied,  as  thousands 
of  others  do  who  follow  injurious  catlings,  "  I  must  live,  you 
know."  But  the  saint  told  him  he  could  show  him  a  more 
excellent  way  of  getting  a  living.  He  wrote  the  letters  I.  H.  S 
on  a  bit  of  paper,  explained  their  meaning,  and  told  the 
card-maker  to  paint  them  in  gold  upon  cards  and  sell  them. 
They  took  amazingly,  and  the  man  made  money  and  sold  no 
more  gambling  cards.  And  this  reminds  me  of  a  better 
story  still,  in  which  no  saint  figures,  but  I  had  a  word  in  it. 

In  the  city  of  Newark,  N.  J.,  I  was  riding  with  two  ladies 
of  a  very  devotional  turn  of  mind,  and  strongly  inclined  to 
the  Romanized  school  of  church-women.  We  had  occasion 
to  pause  for  a  moment  in  front  of  the  largest  wholesale 
grocery  store  on  Broad  street.  Said  one  of  the  ladies  to  the 
other,  "  This  is  a  good  place  ;  I  love  to  see  such  holy  feeling 
mingled  with  business." 

"  To  what  do  you  allude  ?"  said  I,  being  quite  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend  the  occasion  of  their  religious  emotion. 

"  Observe,"  she  answered,  "the  sacred  letters  I.  H.  S.  on 
every  box  and  barrel." 


SANTA   CROCE  AND  THE  INQUISITION.         257 

I  saw  it  was  even  so  ;  but,  alas,  her  sentiment  was  spoiled 
when  I  informed  her  that  the  man  who  kept  the  store  re 
joiced  in  the  name  of  JOHN  H.  STEPHENS. 

Cimabue's  portrait  of  St.  Francis,  and  Giotto's  fresco  of 
the  death  of  John  the  Baptist,  are  the  greatest  treasures  of 
art  in  the  church.  Among  the  very  earliest  works  that  com 
mand  the  admiration  of  the  ages,  these  have  come  down  to 
us  through  six  hundred  years,  and  as  they  were  studied  with 
reverent  regard  by  the  masters  of  the  I5th  and  i6th  centu 
ries,  we  may  be  sure  as  there  were  great  warriors  before 
Agamemnon,  so  great  painters  wrought  well  before  Rafael 
or  Michael  Angelo.  But  it  must  be  frankly  admitted  that  it 
requires  some  artistic  genius  to  discover  the  marvellous 
beauties  that  glorify  the  early  schools  of  painting,  and  to 
the  unanointed  eye  their  chief  value  appears  to  lie  in  show 
ing  us  by  what  majestic  strides  the  art  advanced  in  those 
two  hundred  years  between  Cimabue  and  "the  Transfigura 
tion." 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  and  filling  the  place  with 
warmth  and  light  as  we  escaped  from  the  cold,  dark,  damp 
church  into  the  square  surrounded  by  the  cloisters.  It  was 
actually  a  pleasant  spot,  though  the  walls  were  lined  with 
epitaphs,  and  the  rooms  associated  with  the  gloomiest 
periods  of  human  history.  For  here  in  this  sunny  spot  was 
set  up  the  Inquisition,  with  all  its  terrors:  here,  during  the 
years  that  wore  along  from  1284  to  1782,  the  Holy  Office,  as 
that  most  unholy  tribunal  was  called,  held  its  mysterious 
seat,  and  in  the  name  of  religion  enacted  crimes  that  nothing 
short  of  Infinite  mercy  can  ever  forgive. 

The  Inquisition  was  not  a  court  existing  in  one  city  or 
country  only.  It  was  conceived  in  Rome,  where  the  Mystery 
of  Iniquity  has  its  hiding  place  still,  and  then  its  cheerful 
offices  were  extended  to  other  countries  where  the  civil 
power,  subordinated  to  the  church,  would  obey  when  the 
church  demanded  that  its  members  should  be  disciplined  in 
dungeons  or  in  fire. 

In  the  gallery  of  the  Marchese  Caponi's  palace  in  Florence, 
many  years  ago,  I  saw  a  'picture  that  has  haunted  me  ever 


258  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

since.  I  do  not  intend  to  see  it  again.  It  often  comes  to 
me  in  night  watches,  when  visions  of  distant  years  and  cities 
stand  up  before  the  eyes  of  the  soul,  and  say,  "Here,  look 
on  me  once  more."  It  is  the  picture  of  a  woman,  sitting  on 
the  floor  with  her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees,  her  head 
sinking  upon  her  breast :  a  small  lamp  dying  out  at  her  feet 
gives  light  enough  to  disclose  the  truth  that  the  fair  sufferer 
is  in  a  dungeon,  walled  up  and  left  to  perish  !  Who  is  she  ? 
Is  it  the  horrible  fancy  of  some  artist  to  make  a  sensational 
picture  ?  Is  it  fiction  founded  on  some  domestic  tragedy  ? 
No,  it  is  a  veritable  passage  in  the  history  of  Santa  Croce, 
a  chapter  in  the  chronicles  of  this  beautiful  Florence,  a 
page  in  the  annals  of  the  gentle  and  Christ-like  Church  of 
Rome ! !  !  Shall  I  tell  you  the  story  ? 

THE    STORY    OF    FAUSTINA. 

She  was  young  and  beautiful,  in  a  humble  walk  of  life, 
endowed  with  genius,  and  by  diligent  study  she  had  fitted 
herself  to  give  instruction  to  the  youth  of  her  own  sex. 

In  Florence,  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
the  morals  of  priests  and  people  were  alike  corrupt,  and 
virtue  was  quite  as  rare  as  Solomon  said  it  was  among  the 
women  of  his  day.  More  than  four  thousand  nuns  filled  the 
convents.  The  convents  were  governed  by  the  monasteries 
that  were  swarming  with  monks.  The  civil  power  sought 
to  separate  the  kindred  institutions,  so  great  was  the  scan 
dal,  but  the  Church  was  the  superior  authority,  and  monks 
and  nuns  had  it  their  own  way. 

Faustina  was  not  a  nun.  It  was  no  unusual  circumstance 
in  those  days  for  the  daughters  of  the  proudest  families  to 
separate  themselves,  nominally,  from  the  world  by  taking 
upon  them  the  vows  of  holy  orders.  Young  men  fled  from 
the  conflicts  of  business,  and  wars,  and  society,  to  the  ease, 
the  plenty  and  the  pleasures  of  monastic  life.  The  garb  of 
the  devotee  was  merely  a  cloak  for  selfish  indulgence,  and 
no  class  of  persons  had  more  comforts  and  luxuries  and 
entertainments  than  these  religious,  who  merely  assumed 


SANTA   CROCE  AND  THE  INQUISITION.         259 

the  life  of  seclusion  that  they  might  be  idle  and  well  fed 
without  labor  or  care. 

Such  was  not  the  spirit  or  the  purpose  of  Faustina  Mai- 
nardi.  Her  early  reading  had  inspired  her  with  a  desire  to 
lead  the  young  of  her  own  sex  to  the  higher  enjoyments  which 
she  herself  had  found  in  books  and  the  pursuit  of  art,  and 
at  a  very  early  age  she  gathered  a  school  in  which  she  taught 
v/ith  the  devotion  and  success  of  one  who  is  under  the  influ 
ence  of  a  higher  motive  than  the  pursuit  of  gain.  Young 
women  under  her  care,  in  successive  years  became  infused 
with  her  love  of  the  beautiful  and  true  ;  they  sought  wisdom, 
knowledge  and  skill  for  the  good  that  was  in  them,  and  the 
joy  they  give  to  expanding  minds. 

The  priests  had  their  hands  upon  every  thing  in  those  evil 
times.  The  holiest  places  of  home  were  not  too  secret  to 
escape  their  intrusion.  Then  as  now  the  confessional  made 
the  priest  the  ruler  in  every  household.  The  master  of  all 
the  thoughts  as  well  as  the  actions,  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  for  the  priest  to  become  the  tryant  of  the  family, 
and  to  make  the  weak,  the  superstitious  and  religious,  sub 
missive  to  his  will.  Men  are  not  as  subject  to  the  priests  as 
women  are.  In  Italy  to-day  the  men  do  not  frequent  the 
confessional.  Women  are  still  its  dupes  and  victims.  The 
serpent  is  creeping  into  the  Church  of  England  and  silly 
women  are  led  captive  by  the  Priest  in  Absolution,  who 
extorts  the  secrets  of  the  heart  by  the  awful  lie  that  sin  can 
not  be  forgiven  unless  confessed  to  him.  This  has  been  the 
real  Inquisition  of  the  Church  of  Rome  in  all  the  dreadful 
ages  through  which  her  power  has  been  oerpetuated  among 
the  families  of  the  earth. 

Among  the  learned  and  accomplished  divines  who  filled 
the  pulpits  and  ministered  at  the  altars  of  Florence  in  1645, 
there  was  one  who  had  won  great  reputation  as  a  preacher 
and  a  director  of  schools  for  the  young.  This  fascinating, 
saintly  and  distinguished  priest,  the  Canon  Pandolfo  Rica- 
soli,  had  no  difficulty  in  adding  to  his  other  very  agreeable 
duties  of  the  same  nature,  the  spiritual  oversight  of  the 
school  of  which  Faustina  was  the  teacher.  It  was  the  sad 


260  IKENJEUS  LETTERS. 

but  too  natural  result  of  this  association  that  she  who  first 
sought  in  the  priest  a  guide  and  helper,  pouring  her  heart 
and  soul  into  his  ear,  as  her  confessor,  should  gradually 
come  to  make  known  to  him  those  romantic  feelings  and 
passions  which  would  never  have  ripened  into  evil  had  they 
not  been  inspired  and  stimulated  by  a  crafty,  designing  and 
unprincipled  man.  Under  his  despotic  power,  her  conscience 
was  perverted  and  she  became  his  tool  and  accomplice  in 
the  corruption  of  the  young  and  tender  minds  committed  to 
her  care.  As  their  spiritual  director  he  received  their  "  con 
fessions,"  and  as  the  innocence  of  their  simple  natures  was 
opened  into  his  ears,  he  poisoned  them,  and  so  led  them 
into  sin  and  misery.  Alas  !  for  the  depravity  of  human 
nature.  Shame  it  is  that  such  a  fact  should  be  on  record  in 
the  annals  of  any  church,  in  any  age  of  the  world. 

This  proud  and  wicked  priest  the  confessor  of  these  young 
women,  was,  by  the  laws  of  his  church,  and  in  spite  of  his  own 
deep  depravity,  such  was  the  power  of  superstition  over  him, 
constrained  to  confess  the  secrets  of  his  soul  to  a  brother 
priest !  How  the  plot  thickens,  and  the  policy  and  craft  of 
the  Church  are  displayed  as  we  trace  the  system  in  its  suc 
cessive  steps.  The  Canon  Ricasoli  revealed  in  confession  to 
Father  Marius  the  pleasures  in  which  he  was  indulging  in 
the  school  which  it  was  his  duty  to  watch  over  with  pious 
solicitude  :  he  knew  it  was  very  wicked  for  him  to  abuse  his 
sacred  office,  and  the  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  the 
parents  of  these  precious  youth.  But  he  had  led  this  bad 
life  with  the  knowledge  that  if  he  confessed  his  sins  in  secret 
he  would  have  absolution :  to  return  to  his  sins  and  be  again 
forgiyen.  In  the  weakness  of  his  vanity,  it  had  never 
occurred  to  the  learned  and  popular  Ricasoli  that  his  stand 
ing  in  Florence  had  excited  the  envy  and  therefore  the 
hatred  of  his  brethren,  who  would  rejoice  in  his  downfall. 
The  secrets  of  the  confessional  were  regarded  as  sacred  even 
in  those  times  of  general  corruption,  but  there  was  not  a 
priest  then,  as  there  is  not  a  priest  now,  who  would  not  use 
the  confessional  for  \hzgood  of  the  Chitrch,  though  the  ruin 
of  individuals  and  families  might  also  be  the  result.  When 


SANTA  CROCE  AND  THE  INQUISITION.        261 

'Father  Mariushad  theeloqucnt  Canon  Ricasoli  in  his  power, 
he  was  not  slow  in  betraying  him  to  his -superiors. 

At  this  period,  the  Inquisition  was  in  full  vigor.  Father 
Marius  informed  against  Ricasoli,  and  he  was  brought  before 
the  dreaded  court.  Faustina  was  arrested  also  and  with 
Ricasoli  was  accused  of  corrupting  the  minds  of  the  young 
women  of  her  school.  If  the  words  of  the  blessed  Master 
had  been  addressed  to  the  judges,  not  one  of  them  could 
have  said  a  word  against  this  erring  woman  ;  "  Let  him  that 
is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone."  But  the  occasion  was 
too  good  for  them  to  lose  the  opportunity  of  shov.-ing  zeal 
for  morality,  and  in  an  age  of  general  dissoluteness  among 
priests  and  people  they  resolved  to  make  an  example  of  the 
priest  and  his  victim.  When  we  remember  the  power  which 
a  priest  now  has,  and  then  had,  over  the  conscience  of  a 
weak  and  gentle  and  confiding  woman  who  looks  up  to  him 
as  her  teacher,  her  father  in  God  and  the  guide  of  her  soul, 
it  is  right  to  say  that  the  sin  was  largely  his,  and  that  he 
should  bear  the  punishment  which  human  tribunals  would 
inflict.  But  the  Inquisition  never  knew  the  attribute  of 
mercy.  It  lived  only  to  destroy. 

Its  proceedings  were  for  the  most  part  conducted  in  secresy 
the  most  profound.  Into  their  gloomy  chambers  Faustina 
was  taken  for  examination,  and  the  rack  would  have  stretched 
her  joints  with  torture  had  she  denied  the  charge.  But 
what  had  the  poor  thing  to  do,  except  to  admit,  as  she  did 
most  freely,  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  every  thing  of  which 
she  was  accused  :  she  had  obeyed  the  priest  whom  she  hon 
ored  as  one  who  had  the  Spirit  of  God,  and  she  now  bewailed 
her  sin  and  surrendered  herself  to  the  judges. 

The  Refectory  of  Santa  Croce  is  the  largest  hall  in  the 
convent.  It  is  in  the  same  state  now  in  which  it  was  in 
November  1641,  when  it  was  the  scene  of  Faustina's  condem 
nation  and  sentence.  At  the  end  of  the  long  room  is  a  paint 
ing  of  the  Last  Supper,  by  Giotto,  admired  as  one  of  his  best 
preserved  and  masterly  works.  Above  it  is  another  picture, 
the  Crucifixion,  and  at  the  sides  are  frescoes  of  Saint  Bene 
dict  and  Saint  Francis.  They  have  all  been  on  these  walls 


262  IRJZNEUS  LETTERS. 

more  than  four  hundred  years.  In  the  centre  of  the  great 
hall  was  raised  a  platform  or  scaffold,  hung  with  black  dra 
pery  as  for  the  exhibition  of  a  corpse.  The  Inquisitors  were 
seated  in  elevated  chairs  around  it.  The  Cardinal,  the  chiefs 
of  the  Medici  family,  priests,  nobles  and  dignitaries  of  the 
city,  filled  the  room.  On  the  platform  in  the  midst  of  this 
assembly  the  guilty  priest,  Ricasoli,  and  the  miserable  Faus 
tina  were  placed  :  they  were  dressed  in  robes  painted  all  over 
with  hideous  devils  and  flames.  Then  they  were  made  to 
kneel  before  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  while  a  Monk,  in  a  deep 
sepulchral  voice,  read  aloud  the  crimes  which  they  had  com 
mitted  and  had  confessed.  The  sentence  was  pronounced 
and  carried  into  immediate  execution. 

Underneath  the  chambers  of  the  Inquisition,  was  a  row 
of  dungeons  where  wretched  victims  were  confined  to  await 
their  trial,  and  to  which  those  were  consigned  whose  fate 
was  to  escape  the  penalty  of  death,  and  drag  out  a  miserable 
existence  in  these  subterranean  cells.  No  light  penetrated 
them.  Air  enough  was  allowed  to  protract  their  sufferings. 
These  dungeons  are  now  to  be  seen  in  many  old  castles,  and 
palaces  and  prisons  in  Europe.  It  was  not  uncommon  for  a 
feudal  lord  to  have  some  of  his  enemies  in  dungeons  under 
neath  the  floor  on  which  he  and  his  family  were  feasting.  I 
have  been  in  many  of  these  cold,  damp,  dismal  cells,  and 
have  wondered  how  frail  women  or  even  strong  men  could 
endure  a  month,  not  to  speak  of  years,  in  such  a  horrid  den, 
with  scant  food,  the  stone  floor  the  only  bed. 

Into  such  a  dungeon  Faustina  was  led.  It  was  but  six  feet 
long  and  four  or  five  feet  wide.  The  door  was  narrow,  the 
walls  were  stone.  She  was  left  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand  and 
a  crucifix  on  which  she  fastened  her  eyes  in  despair,  no«.  hope. 
Her  pleas  for  mercy,  her  agonizing  struggle,  against  her 
awful  doom  were  all  in  vain.  The  pikes  of  the  rude  officials 
would  have  subdued  her  had  she  offered  the  least  resistance 
to  the  stern  decree.  In  silence  and  woe  unspeakable  she 
stood  in  the  living  tomb,  while  with  swift  and  cruel  hands 
the  opening  by  which  she  had  entered,  was  walled  up  with 
solid  masonry,  and  she  was  left  to  suffocate  or  starve.  The 


THE  CHURCH  AND  CLOISTERS  OF  ST.  MARK.      263 

men  who  had  doomed  her  to  this  horrid  fate,  ministers  of 
God,  high  priests  of  Him  who  died  for  sinners,  sat  in  their 
chairs  of  office,  till  the  work  was  done,  and  then  went  to 
dinner. 

The  Canon  Ricasoli  was  condemned  to  the  same  fate,  and 
the  sentence  was  carried  into  effect. 

Scarcely  more  than  two  centuries  have  passed  away  since 
these  events  occurred  in  this  lovely  city  of  Florence.  Not  a 
century  has  yet  sped  its  course  since  the  Inquisition  was 
suppressed.  Its  infernal  work  was  going  on  until  the  year 
1782.  God  grant  that  it  may  never  be  restored ! 


THE    CHURCH    AND    CLOISTERS   OF   ST.    MARK. 

We  met  a  fat  and  flourishing  monk  as  we  came  out  from 
the  pharmacy  of  St.  Mark.  He  was  going  in,  but  surely  had 
no  need  of  medicine;  and  as  we  made  some  remark  upon  his 
personal  appearance,  our  Italian  cicerone  said,  with  a  laugh, 
"  they  dine  well." 

When  the  present  government  of  Italy  set  aside  the  tem 
poral  and  wretched  rule  of  the  Pope,  it  suppressed  the  monas 
teries  and  convents,  applying  their  funds  to  religious  purposes 
for  the  good  of  the  people.  The  monks  and  nuns  were  pen 
sioned,  and  in  some  cases  were  allowed  to  occupy  rooms  in 
the  cloisters  they  had  long  inhabited.  But  their  corporate 
existence  being  destroyed,  they  are  no  longer  able  to  hold 
property  as  an  order  or  society,  and  so  will  gradually  die 
out. 

This  monastery  has  a  strange  fascination.  Its  history  is 
rich,  marvellous  and  romantic.  We  have  just  come  from  it, 
full  of  it.  Its  walls  are  covered  with  the  handiwork  of  artists 
whose  names  are  imperishable.  Its  cells  are  lighted  up  with 
the  halo  of  martyrs. 

From  these  halls  three  great  and  holy  men,  one  the  prior  of 
the  convent,  were  brought  out,  hanged  and  burnt,  because 
they  denounced  the  foul  corruptions  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 


264  I  RENAL  US  LETTERS. 

And  this,  too,  when  Martin  Luther  was  only  fifteen  years 
old. 

The  church  itself  is  not  large,  but  it  has  works  of  art  and 
monuments  that  attract  attention.  The  crucifix  by  Giotto 
over  the  front  door  made  him  famous  as  greater  than  Cima- 
bue,  his  patron  and  teacher.  John  of  Bologna  designed  the 
altars  and  wrought  the  statue  of  St.  Antonio.  Passignano 
and  Jacopo  da  Empoli,  and  the  beloved  Fra  Bartolomeo, 
have  left  their  works  upon  the  walls.  These  are  the  walls 
that  resounded  with  the  fiery  eloquence  of  Savonarola,  on 
whose  lips  the  Florentines  hung  with  rapture,  or  with  sobs 
and  wails  of  repentant  anguish ;  or,  roused  to  frenzy,  they 
rushed  from  the  house  to  burn  the  books  and  paintings  he 
condemned. 

The  convent  is  preserved  in  its  ancient  state  as  a  Museum 
and  a  monument.  Its  rich  library  is  a  storehouse  of  manu 
scripts  and  volumes  of  priceless  value.  But  the  frescoes  are 
the  chief  treasures.  Fra  Angelico  was  a  monk  of  this  house 
and  order.  So  was  Fra  Bartolomeo.  Fra  is  the  short  for 
frater,  brother.  Angelico's  work  is  lovely  even  in  its  decay. 
What  angels  he  paints !  angelical  they  are,  and  he  is  there 
fore  named  Angelico.  We  find  great  frescoes  by  these  and 
other  artists  of  renown  in  the  hall  and  refectory,  and  on  the 
walls  of  the  cells.  These  are  little  chambers,  some  ten  feet 
square,  with  one  small  window  in  each,  a  cold  brick  floor, 
and  a  recess  in  the  wall  where  once  stood  a  lamp  and  crucifix. 
Into  one  of  these  cells  the  proud  Medici  were  wont  to  retire 
at  times,  for  a  retreat  from  the  luxury  of  their  artistic  and 
elegant  life,  to  spend  a  few  days  and  nights  in  meditation  and 
prayer.  St.  Antonino's  cell  is  here,  with  portraits,  manuscripts, 
and  other  memorials.  One,  and  another,  and  another  monk, 
illustrious  in  the  history  of  the  Romish  Church,  once  lodged 
in  these  cells. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  hallway  we  enter  a  room  in  which 
is  placed  a  marble  monument  to  Savonarola.  It  is  more 
than  a  monument  to  him.  It  testifies  the  decay  of  Romish 
power :  for  the  man  commemorated  in  marble,  whose  portrait 
and  two  busts  are  here  cherished  as  sacred,  was  put  to  death 
by  the  Church,  after  being  stripped  of  his  robes,  and  degraded 


THE  CHURCH  AND  CLOISTERS  OF  ST.  MARK.      265 

publicly  and  officially  from  her  ministry.  The  next  room  was 
his  study  when  he  was  Prior  of  St.  Mark.  Such  change  has 
come  over  the  face  of  things,  and  the  heart  of  things,  in  Italy, 
that  monasteries  are  suppressed  by  law,  and  men  who  were 
persecuted  to  death  by  the  Church  of  Rome  are  honored, 
and  their  execution  exalted  into  martyrdom.  Strangers  from 
a  world  that  was  discovered  while  Savonarola  was  pleading 
for  the  Reformation  of  the  Church,  now  make  pilgrimages  to 
the  cell  hallowed  by  his  prayers  and  tears;  the  cell  from 
which  he  was  taken  when,  with  the  anathemas  of  the  Church 
on  his  head,  he  was  put  to  death.  I  am  so  full  of  the  story 
that  you  must  read  it :  I  will  make  it  as  brief  as  possible. 

THE  MARTYR  OF  SAN  MARCO. 

Girolamo  Savonarola  began  to  preach  in  the  year  (1483) 
when  Martin  Luther  was  born.  He  was  a  native  of  Ferrara, 
Italy,  was  educated  at  Bologna,  and  preached  his  first  ser 
mon  in  the  church  of  San  Lorenzo  in  Florence.  As  he  be 
came  one  of  the  most  eloquent  men  of  ancient  or  modern 
times,  it  will  encourage  the  feeble  beginner  to  learn  that  he 
made  a  total  failure  at  the  start.  His  audiences  dropped 
away,  displeased  with  his  piping  voice  and  awkward  manner. 
He  said  of  himself  afterwards  :  "  I  had  neither  voice,  lungs,  nor 
style.  My  preaching  disgusted  every  one.  I  could  not  have 
moved  so  much  as  a  chicken."  Yet  this  man  afterwards  con 
quered  kings  by  his  eloquence,  and  men  sought  the  crown 
of  martyrdom  under  the  wonderful  power  of  his  words. 

He  was  the  great  Reformer  preceding  the  advent  of  Luther. 
He  came  to  the  front  when  the  corruption  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  was  so  deep,  wide  and  awful  that  no  human  tongue  or 
pen,  without  divine  inspiration,  is  equal  to  its  description. 
And  in  this  age  of  the  world  no  decent  page  can  receive  the 
record. 

Savonarola  had  the  material  of  a  great  orator  and  a  great 
reformer  in  him  and  he  knew  it.  Overcoming  by  severe 
train  ing  the  obstacles  that  threatened  his  success,  and  filled 
with  the  spirit  of  a  saint,  a  hero,  and  a  martyr,  he  put  his 
life  into  the  work  of  reviving  the  Church  and  giving  free- 


266  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

dom  to  the  people.  He  believed  in  God  and  in  himself. 
More  than  this,  he  believed  that  God  spoke  by  him  as  a  pro 
phet  when  he  threatened  judgments  to  come  unless  the 
Church  repented  and  despots  gave  freedom  to  the  oppressed. 

Apostates,  and  not  apostles,  sat  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter. 
While  Savonarola  was  acquiring  knowledge  in  the  convent  at 
Bologna,  and  by  fasting  and  prayer,  and  holy  meditation,  was 
being  trained  for  his  great  mission,  the  Church  was  governed 
by  Sixtus  IV.,  profligate,  avaricious,  and  wicked,  whose 
shameless  vices  filled  the  young  and  pious  student  with  hor 
ror,  and  stimulated  his  resolution  to  lead  a  crusade  in  the 
Church  to  save  the  cross.  That  wretch  of  a  Pope  died  the 
year  after  Savonarola,  preached  his  first  sermon.  Innocent 
VIII.  succeeded  him.  The  only  innocence  in  him  was  in  his 
name.  Bribery  and  perjury  were  the  price  he  paid  for  the 
chair.  He  took  an  oath  beforehand  that  he  would  not  exer 
cise  the  power  of  absolving  himself :  and  when  he  was  elected 
he  absolved  himself  from  that  oath  and  then  gave  himself  up 
to  all  manner  of  evil,  forgiving  his  own  sins  and  sinning  the 
more.  In  these  mighty  ministers  of  iniquity,  sitting  in  the 
seat  of  the  high  priests  in  the  temple  of  the  Most  Holy,  claim 
ing  to  hold  the  keys  of  heaven  in  their  unclean  hands,  the 
young  enthusiast  saw  the  fulfilment  of  the  visions  of  St. 
John  in  Patmos. 

Then  rose  to  the  throne  of  the  Church  a  man,  a  monster, 
whose  name,  after  the  lapse  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
still  reeks  with  infamy,  as  the  vilest  and  most  beastly  of  the 
sons  of  men.  The  pagan  emperors  of  Rome  had  produced 
occasional  specimens  of  human  beings  in  whom  varieties  of 
vice  were  developed,  as  avarice,  cruelty,  lust,  and  revenge. 
But  it  remained  for  the  Church  to  beget  a  son,  and  raise 
him  to  be  its  high  priest  and  king,  in  whom  dwelt  all  con 
ceivable  sins  and  shame,  a  disgrace  to  the  human  family,  and 
an  everlasting  evidence  of  what  infernal  wickedness  may  be 
in  man  abandoned  of  God  to  work  all  uncleanness  with 
greediness.  Yet  was  the  Church  itself  so  rotten,  hierarchy, 
priests  and  people,  they  hailed  as  a  god  the  advent  of  this 
Titan  of  sin,  when  he  bought  his  way  to  the  Papal  chair,  and 


THE  CHURCH  AND  CLOISTERS  OF  ST.  MARK.      267 

with  the  infamy  of  unmentionable  vices  on  his  name  already, 
Alexander  VI.,  in  the  person  of  Roderigo  Borgia,  became  the 
head  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  There  never  was  but  one  good 
thing  possible  to  be  said  of  him.  He  was  not  a  hypocrite. 
Sitting  in  the  temple  of  God,  so  called,  he  professed  to  be 
nothing  else  than  the  incarnation  of  Satan,  adding  to  all  the 
vices  of  which  the  devil  would  be  guilty,  those  crimes  of  which 
human  beings  alone  are  capable.  Without  disguise,  restraint 
or  shame,  his  crimes  were  limited  only  as  the  ability  of  the 
man  was  less  than  the  will  of  the  monster.  He  would  have 
plucked  the  Virgin  from  the  choir  of  heaven  and  torn  up  its 
streets  of  gold,  to  gratify  his  lust  and  greed.  And  this  human 
demon  was  the  head  of  the  Church  on  earth,  and  the  Church 
adored  him.  He  was  and  the  Church  was  then  as  truly 
infallible  as  the  Pope  is  now,  or  as  the  Church  ever  was. 
Not  an  attribute  of  wisdom,  truth,  and  righteousness  vests  in 
that  Church  or  its  head  to-day,  that  did  not,  by  every  right, 
belong  to  it  when  Alexander  VI.  came  to  its  throne  in  1492, 
and  by  his  matchless  wickedness  defied  God  and  astounded 
the  world. 

Among  the  few,  the  very  few,  in  the  Church  who  sighed  and 
cried  for  the  abominations  that  were  done  in  the  midst  of 
her  was  Savonarola,  now  a  monk  and  preacher  in  Brescia. 
The  Medici  family  had  reigned  in  Florence  a  hundred  years, 
swaying  the  sceptre  in  a  nominal  republic  with  regal  power, 
surrounding  themselves  with  priceless  luxuries,  gathering  the 
arts  and  sciences  to  the  embellishment  of  their  palaces  and 
city,  cultivating  letters  and  philosophy,  and  transmitting  their 
wealth  and  power  to  successive  generations.  To  overturn 
them  and  restore  the  government  to  the  people,  was  the 
dream  of  many,  and  when  all  other  means  failed,  the  pecu 
liarly  Italian  system  of  assassination  was  attempted.  The 
papal  government  was  externally  friendly  to  the  Medici,  but, 
as  always,  its  friendship  was  hollow  and  deceitful,  Pope,  car 
dinals  and  bishops,  conspired  to  hire  a  band  of  murderers  to 
assassinate  the  two  brothers,  Guilianoand  Lorenzo  de  Medici, 
in  the  midst  of  the  celebration  of  the  blessed  sacrament,  in 
the  temple  of  God.  One  of  them  was  slain.  Lorenzo  was 


268  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

wounded,  but  not  fatally.  The  conspirators  were  seized  and 
seventy  of  them  were  put  to  death  the  next  day.  The  arch 
bishop  and  two  of  his  fellow  murderers  were  hanged  out  of 
one  of  the  palace  windows.  The  sympathies  of  Savonarola 
were  with  the  friends  of  popular  liberty.  Lorenzo,  wishing 
to  glorify  Florence  with  the  most  eloquent  as  well  as  the 
most  ingenious  and  learned  men,  invited  Savonarola  to  be  the 
Prior  of  St.  Mark,  a  convent  which  Lorenzo  had  founded. 
He  came.  But  the  honor  thus  conferred  did  not  silence  or 
weaken  his  denunciation  of  the  sins  of  the  times.  No  pro 
phet  in  the  days  of  Israel's  degeneracy  ever  spoke  with  more 
boldness  and  decision  than  he.  Lorenzo  sought  to  soothe 
and  to  win  him.  Day  after  day  the  great  man,  called  the 
Magnificent,  came  to  the  garden  of  the  convent  to  converse 
with  the  Prior,  who  was  accustomed  there  to  teach  his  breth 
ren  and  disciples.  When  Lorenzo  came,  Savonarola  would 
retire  to  his  cell.  Blandishments  were  lavished  on  him  in 
vain.  He  denounced  the  vices  of  the  times,  and  in  his  fiery 
zeal  the  ascetic  enthusiast  blazed  into  fanaticism,  and  he  con 
founded  things  innocent  and  beautiful  with  the  sensual  and 
voluptuous.  So  fervid  and  irresistible  were  his  appeals  that 
thousands  of  the  Florentines  brought  their  gems  of  art,  splen 
did  paintings,  the  works  of  great  masters,  mosaics  and  jewels 
of  gold  and  silver  and  precious  stones,  as  well  as  their 
instruments  of  gaming,  licentious  books  and  pictures,  what 
ever  ministered  to  the  passions  and  aesthetic  tastes,  and  made 
one  grand  holocaust,  in  the  public  square,  and  burned  them 
before  the  Lord!  In  these  funeral  pyres,  these  burnt  sacrifices 
of  ignorance  and  superstition,  many  books  and  paintings 
were  consumed  that  art  and  learning  and  genius  have  never 
replaced.  But  these  were  the  faults  of  excessive  and  unen 
lightened  zeal.  Bartolomeo,  one  of  the  finest  painters  of  that 
or  any  other  age,  was  so  moved  by  the  great  reformer's  words, 
that  he  burned  his  own  magnificent  creations,  and  became  a 
monk  in  the  cloisters  of  St.  Mark.  Four  years  he  refused  to 
paint  at  all,  lest  he  should  minister  to  an  unhallowed  taste. 
He  was  ordered  by  his  superior  to  resume  his  art,  or  the  gal 
leries  would  now  want  some  of  their  most  glorious  paintings. 


THE  CHURCH  AND  CLOISTERS  OF  ST.  MARK.      269 

Savonarola  thundered  in  the  ears  of  the  affrighted  people 
that  the  day  of  doom  was  at  hand.  He  read  in  the  Book  of 
the  Revelation  the  plagues  that  were  coming  upon  Rome  and 
Florence  and  the  whole  Church  on  account  of  their  sins. 
And  then  death  came  to  the  palace  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  and 
he  sent  for  the  Prior  of  St.  Mark  to  confess  him  in  his  mortal 
agony.  Savonarola  yielded  to  the  request  of  him  dying 
whom  he  would  not  obey  in  the  plenitude  of  his  wealth  and 
power. 

"  Dost  thou  believe  with  all  thine  heart?"  asked  the  monk 
of  the  dying  prince.  And  Lorenzo  said  he  did.  "  Wilt  thou 
restore  all  thou  hast  taken  from  others  unlawfully?"  The 
spoiler  of  cities  remembered  the  treasures  of  art  with  which 
Florence  was  enriched  and  adorned,  but  he  groaned  an 
unwilling  promise.  "And  wilt  thou  give  back  to  Florence 
her  liberty  and  free  government  by  the  people?"  Lorenzo 
thought  of  heaven  and  hell,  his  proud  spirit  revolted  at  the 
terms  on  which  absolution  was  offered,  and  he  refused  to 
answer.  The  stout-hearted  monk  went  away:  left  his  patron 
to  die  unshriven. 

The  Pope  heard  again  and  again  of  the  denunciations 
heaped  on  his  head  by  the  eloquent  monk.  He  warned  him 
to  desist.  Savonarola  replied  that  he  expected  death  to  be 
the  reward  of  his  faithfulness  to  duty,  and  it  had  no  terrors. 
The  Pope  sent  a  messenger  to  Florence  with  the  offer  to  the 
Prior  of  a  cardinal's  hat.  The  monk  repelled  the  offer  with 
scorn.  Two  parties  were  formed  in  Florence  fighting  unto 
blood,  to  resist  and  to  defend  the  reform  of  the  Church 
which  Savonarola  preached.  Charges  of  disobedience  of 
papal  authority  were  brought  against  him.  He  was  sum 
moned  to  Rome,  but  refused  to  go.  Crowds  listened  to  his 
sermons  and  with  sobs  and  tears  bewailed  the  sins  of  the 
Church  and  their  own  sins  that  had  incurred  the  wrath  of 
God. 

With  his  progress  as  preacher  and  reformer,  he  became 
more  and  more  a  fanatic.  He  had  visions  of  angels  and  con 
flicts  with  devils,  and  it  was  said  of  him,  though  he  was  care 
ful  not  to  say  it  of  himself,  that  the  Almighty  condescended 


270  IRE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

to  speak  with  him  face  to  face!  The  blessed  Virgin  was  said 
to  have  put  a  crown  of  martyrdom  on  his  brow,  and  a  dove 
alighting  on  his  shoulder  whispered  in  his  ear.  His  sermons 
became  rhapsodies.  He  led  the  people  in  public  spiritual 
dances,  while  they  sang  hymns  and  called  with  loud  voices 
for  Christ  to  come.  Signs  in  the  heavens  were  seen  in  many 
places,  statues  were  bathed  in  sweat,  women  gave  birth  to 
monsters,  and  the  land  trembled  under  the  tread  of  invisible 
armies  with  trumpets  and  drums. 

The  Pope  threatened  the  flaming  prophet  with  the  terrors, 
of  the  Church.  The  monk  flung  back  his  threats  and  declared, 
with  truth,  and  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  that  the  Pope  and 
his  priests  were  worse  than  Turks  and  Moors.  There  is  no 
faith,  he  said,  no  love,  no  virtue,  in  Rome.  It  was  true  then, 
it  is  true  now.  "  If  you  would  ruin  your  son,  make  him  a 
priest,"  exclaimed  Savonarola,  and  the  priests  were  so  enraged 
by  his  words  that  they  resolved  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  by 
fair  means  or  foul.  The  Pope  stirred  up  the  people  against 
the  monk  whose  testimony  was  terrible.  Florence  was  threat 
ened  with  the  Papal  curse,  if  it  did  not  stop  the  preacher's 
mouth.  The  magistrates  were  ordered  to  send  him  a  prisoner 
to  Rome.  They  were  his  enemies  and  would  gladly  obey  the 
command.  The  priests  of  Florence  refused  to  absolve  or  to 
bury  any  who  should  listen  to  his  preaching.  But  so  much 
the  more  did  the  multitudes  throng  the  church  of  St.  Mark. 
The  war  was  now  openly  declared,  and  Savonarola  was  an 
acknowledged  rebel  against  the  Pope  and  the  apostate 
church.  The  result  could  not  be  doubtful. 

It  was  on  Palm  Sunday,  1498,  when  the  mob,  set  on  fire  by 
the  hostile  priests,  assailed  the  Convent  of  St.  Mark.  They 
were  met  by  a  determined  resistance,  and  some  of  them  were 
slain.  The  magistrates  interfered  and  the  riot  was  sup 
pressed,  but  Savonarola  and  two  of  his  brethren,  Domenico 
and  Maruffi,  were  seized  and  thrust  into  prison.  They  were 
brought  to  trial  and  subjected  to  the  infernal  tortures  of  the 
inquisition  to  induce  them  to  recant,  and  submit  to  the 
authority  of  the  Church.  Savonarola's  temperament  was 
unfitted  to  endure  the  rack,  and  as  his  joints  were  strained 


THE  CHURCH  AXD  CLOISTERS  OF  ST.  MARK.       271 

and  every  nerve  was  wrung  with  agony  his  strength  failed 
and  he  was  ready  to  recant,  only  to  withdraw  so  soon  as 
he  was  released  for  a  moment  from  the  torture.  One  awful 
night  intervened,  and  the  more  fearful  engines  were  applied 
with  the  same  result.  "Lord!"  he  cried  in  his  agony,  "take 
me  to  thyself."  The  three  holy  men  were  condemned  to  be 
hanged  and  burned. 

On  the  morning  of  May  22,  1498,  they  were  led  forth  into 
the  grand  square  of  the  Signori  to  die.  At  daybreak  they 
had  given  to  one  another  and  received  the  Holy  Communion, 
and  their  faith  was  strengthened  in  the  sacrament.  The  vast 
crowd  was  not  a  mob  only.  Bishops,  and  priests  and  dele 
gates  from  the  Pope,  in  their  robes  of  office,  stood  near  the 
sacrifice.  The  piazza,  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  surrounded  by 
the  palaces  of  the  great  and  the  wealthy.  The  noblest  of  them 
all  was  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  in  which  the  Gonfalonieri,  or 
superior  magistrates,  had  their  official  residence.  It  was  after 
wards  the  royal  house  of  the  Medici.  From  the  windows  of 
this  palace  the  magistrates  witnessed  the  awful  scene. 

As  the  hour  drew  nigh  a  solemn  awe  fell  upon  the  people. 
The  friends  of  the  martyrs  gathered  near  to  them,  whispering 
words  of  encouragement  and  mingling  prayers  with  their 
tears.  Vasona,  a  bishop,  once  a  pupil  of  Savonarola,  stripped 
them  of  their  clerical  garments  and  pronounced  them 
degraded  from  the  sacred  office.  But  when. the  bishop  said 
to  Savonarola,  "  I  separate  thee  from  the  Church  Militant  and 
the  Church  Triumphant,"  the  martyr  with  a  firm  and  loud 
voice  said,  "  from  the  Militant,  but  not  from  the  Triumphant : 
that  thou  canst  not  do."  And  when  a  friend  asked  him  if  he 
went  willingly  to  his  death,  he  answered :  "  Should  I  not 
willingly  die  for  His  sake  who  willingly  died  for  me  a  sinful 
man?" 

In  the  midst  of  the  square  a  scaffold  was  erected,  and  as  if 
in  mockery  of  the  death  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  the  places  for 
the  three  were  so  arranged  that  Savonarola  should  be  exe 
cuted  in  the  midst  and  raised  above  the  others,  one  on  his 
right  hand,  the  other  on  his  left.  Silvestro  ascended  first  and 
exclaimed  "Lord,  into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit."  Do- 


272  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

menico  took  his  place,  and  then  Savonarola  repeated  the 
Apostles'  Creed,  and  as  the  words  "  the  life  everlasting"  were 
said,  they  were  drawn  up  by  the  neck  and  strangled.  Fag 
gots  heaped  about  the  scaffold  were  now  fired  and  the  bodies 
were  consumed,  dropping  piece  by  piece  into  the  flames. 
When  the  awful  scene  was  over,  the  ashes  were  gathered  in  a 
cart  and  cast  from  the  Old  Bridge,  into  the  Arno. 


GOING  TO   ROME. 

"  All  roads  lead  to  Rome,"  is  an  old  saying.  It  has  a  hid 
den  meaning  that  we  will  hope  is  not  true. 

Through  many  a  long  year  when  Europe  was  laced  with 
railways,  the  Pope  would  not  suffer  his  petty  States  to  be 
disturbed  with  them,  and  the  road  to  Rome  was  worse  than 
in  the  days  of  the  Caesars.  In  the  year  1853  the  best  route 
to  the  capital  was  by  sea  to  Civita  Vecchia,  and  thence  by 
coach,  forty  miles,  on  a  dreadful  road. 

But  the  march  of  time  has  left  the  .lumbering  stages  for 
the  mountains,  and  even  the  mountains  are  invaded  now  by 
the  railway.  Over  or  under  we  go  by  rail  through  the  Alps 
and  the  Apennines ;  the  rocks  on  the  seaboard  are  tunnelled, 
and,  instead  of  being  tossed  on  the  waves,  we  glide  along  the 
caverns,  cautioned  only  to  keep  heads  and  arms  within,  lest 
they  be  left  behind  in  the  dark. 

The  rail  connects  Rome  with  Florence  and  the  rest  of  the 
world.  It  was  a  dull,  dismal,  winter  morning,  the  last  of 
November,  when  we  were  called  out  of  bed  before  daylight 
to  get  breakfast  and  be  off  to  the  station.  And  by  that  per 
versity  of  nature  so  common  to  his  class,  the  porter  who 
called  us  mistook  our  rooms  for  some  still  more  unfortunate 
traveller's,  and  roused  us  an  hour  before  the  time.  The 
pleasures  of  travel  and  the  delicious  climate  of  Italy  are 
appreciated  when  one  shivers  over  a  cold  breakfast  by  can 
dle-light,  crawls  into  the  court-yard  of  his  Albergo,  mounts 
the  omnibus  in  a  dripping  rain,  and  is  dragged,  with  an  enor- 


GOING  TO  ROME.  273 

mous  load  of  trunks,  to  the  station  half  an  hour  before  the 
time  of  starting.  The  waiting-room  has  frescoed  walls  and 
mosaic  floors,  with  interworked  inscriptions,  and  is  as  cold 
as  an  icy  sepulchre.  The  half  hour  of  waiting  is  spent  in 
registering  luggage,  weighing  and  marking  and  paying.  At 
last  the  doors  are  opened,  and  rush  is  made  for  the  best 
seats.  Then  you  suppose  you  are  off.  The  time  is  up,  but 
some  important  functionary  has  not  arrived  :  the  car-doors 
are  locked  :  no  cord  or  bell  connects  you  in  any  way  with 
help  if  you  want  it ;  you  may  have  a  crazy  woman  or  a  bandit 
in  the  apartment,  but  there  you  must  stay  until  the  con 
ductor — strangely  called  a  guard — is  pleased  to  release  you 
at  some  distant  station.  It  was  twelve  minutes  by  the  sta 
tion  time  when  the  gold-laced  officials  touched  their  caps  to 
somebody  who  bustled  into  the  train,  and  we  were  off. 

It  is  a  beautiful  journey  by  rail  from  Florence  to  Rome. 
But  we  cannot  stop  for  half  an  hour  at  every  place  of  inter 
est,  as  we  did  ten  or  twelve  years  ago  when  posting  through 
Italy.  Then  we  explored  the  quaint  and  curious  old  city 
Montevanchi,  and  its  museum  of  remains  discovered  in  its 
vicinity  ;  the  elephant,  hippopotamus,  and  the  mastodon  once 
roamed  these  plains,  and  found  their  graves  in  which  they 
have  slept  undisturbed  certainly  for  two  thousand  years. 
But  we  did  rest  at  Arezzo  a  few  minutes,  where  Petrarch  was 
born,  when  his  parents  were  in  exile  from  Florence  ;  and  the 
friend  of  Horace  and  Virgil,  Mecaenas,  was  born  here,  and 
Vasari,  and  Benvenuti,  and  Leonardo  Aretino. 

Cortona's  walls  of  gigantic  stones  have  resisted  the  assaults 
of  war  and  time,  and  are  just  as  good  as  ever.  It  has  a 
famous  grotto,  quite  as  genuine  an  article  as  many  others  in 
Italy  or  Judea.  It  is  a  curious  Etruscan  building  of  huge 
stones  joined  without  cement,  and  named  the  Grotto  of 
Pythagoras.  This  gentle  philospher  preached  the  virtue  and 
duty  of  toleration,  and  the  ancient  Ottomans  burned  him  alive 
for  holding  and  teaching  such  a  pestilent  heresy.  The  C<?rton- 
ians  of  Italy,  for  the  honor  of  having  the  philosopher  as  one 
of  their  citizens,  took  to  themselves  the  shame  of  putting 
him  to  death.  Such  is  history. 


274  I  RE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

The  Lake  of  Thrasymene  is  skirted  by  the  road,  and  we 
talked  over  the  great  battle  which  was  fought  on  its  banks 
by  the  Carthaginians  under  Hannibal,  and  the  Romans  under 
Flaminius,  B.C.  217.  The  streams  that  flow  into  the  lake 
ran  red  with  blood,  and  an  earthquake  was  unheeded  in  the 
greater  shock  of  battle.  I  forget  how  many  bushels  of  rings 
the  victorious  Africans  took  from  the  fingers  of  the  slain 
Roman  nobles  after  the  fight  was  over. 

The  old  cities  and  villages  we  pass  seem,  from  the  road, 
deserted  and  dying.  Decay,  like  ivy,  hangs  on  the  walls  and 
roofs,  and  the  dead  past  rises  to  view ;  for  the  time  was  when 
every  acre  of  this  ground  lived  with  stalwart  men,  who  went 
out  from  these  dead  cities  to  the  conquest  of  the  world. 

We  are  approaching  Rome.  Herds  of  mottled  cattle  roam 
the  plains.  Ruins,  the  names  of  which  are  buried  beneath 
them,  lie  in  the  distance.  Miles  of  ancient  aqueducts,  on 
successive  arches,  seem  to  be  marching  across  the  campagna, 
over  the  graves  of  twenty  centuries. 

It  is  just  possible  that  some  travellers  may  not  be  excited 
on  approaching  Rome.  It  is  a  point  with  many  persons  to 
be  never  excited.  These  oxen  and  buffaloes  are  not  in  the 
least  affected  by  their  nearness  to  Rome.  To  be  insensible 
here  is  to  be  like  them.  Dr.  Arnold  writes  that  the  day  of 
his  arrival  was  "  the  most  solemn  and  interesting"  of  his  life. 
Niebubr  describes  his  emotions  as  overpowering.  Chateau 
briand  says  that  the  very  dust  of  the  city  has  something  of 
human  grandeur.  When  Luther  came  to  Rome  he  cried,  as 
he  entered  her  gate,  "  I  salute  thee,  O  holy  Rome,  sacred 
through  the  blood  and  tombs  of  the  martyrs." 

None  of  these  thoughtful  men  came  to  Rome  by  rail.  But 
we  had  this  in  common  with  them,  that  the  rush  and  clatter 
of  the  cars  did  not  destroy  the  sentiment  of  the  approach  to 
the  ETERNAL  City.  We  were  in  such  a  train  of  thought 
when  the  train  rushed  into  the  city,  and  we  were  disgorged 
in  front  of  the  Baths  of  Diocletian. 

I  never  look  at  Italy  on  the  map  without  an  intense  sense  of 
wonder.  Judea  gave  law  to  the  world,  but  Judea's  son  was 
the  Man  Divine.  The  philosophy  of  Greece  has  ruled  in  the 


GOING    TO  ROME.  275 

thought  of  the  world,  but  that  was  the  power  of  mind  in  the 
realm  of  mind.  But  Italy,  an  insignificant  peninsula  in  an 
inland  tideless  sea,  a  tongue  of  land  shaped  like  a  boot,  and 
compared  with  Europe  only,  is  less  than  the  foot  to  a  man, 
could  and  did  speak  the  word  which  the  whole  world  heard 
and  obeyed ;  her  armed  legions  marched  forth  to  the  con 
quest  of  the  nations  :  her  yoke  was  on  the  neck  of  Germany, 
Helvetia,  Gaul  and  Britain ;  and  the  multitudinous  East, 
with  its  barbaric  wealth  and  splendor,  submitted  to  her  impe 
rial  sway  :  Africa  and  Asia,  and  all  the  earth,  sent  streams  of 
gold  and  fabulous  treasures  to  make  rich  the  cities  and  citi 
zens  of  this  diminutive  country  ;  kings  and  queens  were  led 
as  captives  through  the  streets  of  this  Imperial  Rome,  and  a 
hundred  temples  dedicated  to  pagan  gods  were  perfumed 
with  sacrifices  of  triumphant  gratitude :  here  learning  and 
letters,  the  arts,  poetry,  eloquence  and  philosophy  flourished 
in  their  glory  for  the  admiration  and  instruction  of  mankind, 
as  their  yet  unrivalled  remains  attest  at  this  day.  And  when 
the  Christian  religion  subdued  the  Empire  and  mounted  the 
throne,  it  became  the  ruling  faith  of  the  world,  sending  out 
its  ministers  among  the  nations,  overturning  kings  and  lord 
ing  it  over  the  consciences  of  hundreds  of  millions  of  human 
beings  through  protracted  centuries,  and  even  now,  in  its 
corruption  and  decrepitude  and  apostasy,  loaded  with  the 
sins  of  simony  and  uncleanness  and  murder,  and  whatsoever 
worketh  abomination  or  maketh  a  lie ;  drunk  with  the  blood 
of  uncounted  armies  of  saints  who  in  its  persecutions  it  has 
sent  up  to  the  thrones  of  martyrs :  staggering  to  its  doom 
under  the  blasphemous  assumption  of  infallibility  by  which  it 
has  insulted  and  defied  the  Only  Wise  God  ;  even  yet  and  now 
it  stands  like  the  imperial  ruins  of  old  Rome,  majestic  and 
mighty  in  its  age  and  decay,  destined  to  be  like  those  ruins 
longer  in  perishing  than  in  rising  to  the  summit  of  its  power. 
It  is  an  event  in  one's  life  to  come  to  Rome.  Pagan  or 
Papal,  Jew,  Heathen  or  Christian,  he  must  be  more  or  less 
than  a  man  who  can  come  to  Rome  without  emotion.  And 
with  these  and  the  like  emotions,  I  drove  away  from  the  sta 
tion  to  the  Hotel  Quirinal  in  Rome. 


276  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 


THE  ETERNAL  CITY!  WHY? 

Probably  there  are  writers  wise  enough  to  tell  us  why 
Rome  is  called  the  "  Eternal "  City.  Not  recalling  the  reason 
at  this  moment,  and  having  no  books  to  help  me,  I  must 
doubt  the  fact.  So  far  from  being  without  beginning,  it  is 
certain  that  many  other  towns  antedate  it,  and  its  end  is 
nearer  to  our  day  than  its  beginning.  The  Venerable  Bede 
copies  and  so  preserves,  as  a  fly  is  kept  in  amber,  a  prophecy 
of  Anglo-Saxon  Pilgrims,  which  is  in  Latin,  but  in  English  is 
too  familiar  for  quotation  ; 

"  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand  ; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall ; 
And  when  Rome  falls,  the  world." 

The  Coliseum  is  certainly  good  for  another  couple  of 
thousand  years,  if  the  Romans  restore  it  from  year  to  year, 
as  they  do  now,  but  Rome  had  its  fall  long  time  ago,  and 
the  Coliseum  is  a  ruin,  but  the  world  rolls  on,  while  the 
Eternal  City  is  no  more  to  the  world  than  the  fly  on  the  cart 
wheel. 

The  city  once  had  four  millions  of  inhabitants.  It  now 
has  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand !  That  does  not  read  much 
like  the  life  of  an  eternal  city.  Its  growth  seems  to  be  down 
wards.  Once  on  a  time  the  fortunes  of  war  left  it  with  only 
a  thousand  inhabitants.  That  was  in  the  year  546,  when 
Totila,  King  of  the  Goths,  captured  it,  after  a  long  siege,  and 
found  the  city  a  desert.  When  its  people  were  counted  by 
millions,  everything  flowed  into  it ;  now  nothing  comes  but 
travellers  and  Peter's  Pence.  The  Pence  will  cease,  but  the 
travellers  will  come  as  the  ruins  multiply.  The  visitors  bring 
and  leave  a  great  sum  of  money  every  year,  and  the  more  as 
they  are  robbed  the  more.  Prices  have  doubled  in  ten  years, 
and  travel  in  Italy,  which  once  was  cheaper  than  in  any  other 
part  of  Europe,  is  now  more  expensive.  The  hotel  charges 
are  enormous  in  Rome,  quite  as  bad  in  Florence,  and  need 
lessly  high  in  all  the  cities.  This  tends  to  the  decrease  of 


THE  ETERNAL    CITY!    WHY?  277 

travel.     The  hotels  raise  their  prices  as  the  company  falls 
off. 

Rome  is  said  to  be  very  unwholesome.  There  is  a  positive 
panic  on  the  subject.  If  the  half  be  true  that  is  said  of  peo 
ple  dying  here,  the  city,  so  far  from  being  eternal,  is  on  its 
death-bed  now.  In  all  the  other  cities  of  Italy  the  traveller 
is  warned  against  Rome.  "  The  malaria  is  dreadful  in  Rome 
just  now,"  is  the  constant  remark,  and  those  who  are  on 
their  way  to  the  city  are  frightened.  If  they  come  they  are 
afraid  to  stay.  Fear  helps  them  to  be  ill.  Then  there  is  a 
hateful  saying,  "  None  but  dogs  and  Englishmen  walk  in  the 
sun  in  Rome."  That  saying  has  killed  many  men  and 
women,  tempting  them  to  avoid  the  very  life  of  Italy,  the 
warm,  glorious,  genial  sun.  Out  of  the  sun  is  in  the  way  to 
getting  a  chill.  And  a  chill  is  the  forerunner  of  disease.  It 
is  not  dangerous  to  visit  Rome  for  a  few  days  at  any  season 
of  the  year.  But  malaria  does  prevail  in  regions  round 
about  the  city  from  early  summer  until  frost  comes,  and 
invades  the  walls,  except  in  the  most  crowded,  the  filthiest 
quarters.  There  no  stranger  would  stay,  and  the  natives  are 
acclimated.  The  mortality  among  the  settled  population  of 
Rome  is  not  in  excess  of  other  cities.  Mr.  Hooker,  the  banker, 
Mr.  Terry,  the  artist,  and  others  who  have  resided  here 
thirty  or  forty  years,  regard  the  city  as  wholesome  as  any 
other.  Why,  then,  do  so  many  travellers  sicken  and  die 
here,  or  carry  away  with  them  the  seeds  that  afterwards  bear 
deadly  fruit.  Chiefly,  because  they  are  impriident.  They  do 
those  things  they  ought  not  to  do,  and  leave  undone  many 
that  ought  to  be  done,  and  no  wonder  they  soon  come  to  say 
"  there  is  no  health  in  us."  The  one  peculiarity  of  the  Italian 
climate  to  be  kept  ever  in  mind  is,  that  the  contrast  between 
the  warmth  in  sun  and  shade  is  far  greater  than  in  England 
or  the  United  States.  The  sun  does  not  smite  by  day  :  the 
sun  is  life  and  health.  But  the  sudden  change  from  sunshine 
to  shade  is  a  rush  trom  heat  to  cold,  and  the  check  of  per 
spiration  is  dangerous  anywhere.  Warm  by  walking  in  the 
sun,  we  enter  a  church  or  gallery  :  the  floors  are  stone,  and 
stone  cold :  we  are  chilled  through  and  through  as  we  stand 


278  IREN^US  LETTERS. 

with  upturned  faces,  and  aching  feet,  before  paintings  that 
are  on  the  ceiling,  or  on  the  high  walls  above  our  heads,  and 
we  pursue  this  study  of  art  hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day, 
till  we  are  worn  out,  and  are  obliged  to  send  for  the  doctor. 
We  are  victims  of  the  Roman  fever !  So  the  obituary  notice 
says,  and  we  are  added  to  the  long  roll  of  martyrs  to  the  love 
of  art,  who  could  not  stand  the  climate  of  Rome.  This  is 
the  short  of  nine-tenths  of  the  cases  of  disease  and  death 
among  the  travellers  who  come  to  Rome  for  the  purpose  of 
visiting  the  city.  Many  come  because  they  are  invalids 
already,  and  most  of  these  go  away  better  than  they  came. 
Some  die,  and  their  fate  adds  to  the  bad  reputation  of  Rome. 
But  each  Italian  city  to  which  foreigners  resort  has  its 
Protestant  cemetery,  and  its  monuments  are  covered  with 
inscriptions  that  tell  us  how  vain  it  was  to  seek  for  life  and 
health  in  this  lovely  clime,  when  death  has  marked  his  vic 
tim  for  the  tomb.  The  Florence  cemetery  is  full :  and  when 
I  was  there  a  few  weeks  ago,  three  or  four  persons  were 
waiting  burial  while  a  new  cemetery  was  in  preparation. 
England  and  the  United  States  have  peopled  that  Campo 
Santo,  and  one  also  in  Naples,  and  this  one  in  Rome,  where 
the  pyramid  of  Cestus  stands  as  it  did  when  Paul  was  led  by 
it  to  his  execution.  Turn  to  Conybeare  and  Howson's  book 
on  the  travels  of  Paul,  and  read  the  tenderly  eloquent  pas 
sage  in  which  this  monument  and  these  graves  are  described. 

But  I  have  strangely  wandered  from  the  point.  It  was  to 
inquire  why  Rome  is  called  the  Eternal  City,  when  it  is  evi 
dently  dying. 

The  Pope  was  said  to  be  dying  when  we  arrived.  He  had 
been  dying  for  some  days,  and  from  hour  to  hour  the  event 
was  expected.  The  first  Roman  citizen  of  whom  I  asked  if 
the  Pope  was  still  living,  answered  : 

"  Living !  if  you  think  he  is  going  to  die,  you  will  be  con 
vinced  of  your  mistake  :  he  is  not  to  die  this  time,  I  assure 
you." 

Yet  the  doctors  were  at  his  bedside  continually,  and  day 
after  day  issued  a  statement  of  his  condition. 

The  Pope  and  the  King  were  at  variance.    The  King  had 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY!    WHY?  279 

taken  the  crown  of  all  Italy  for  his  own  head,  with  the  con 
sent  of  the  people,  and  against  the  will  of  the  Pope.  The 
time  was  when  the  will  of  the  Pope  would  have  been  LAW 
alike  to  King  and  to  people.  That  time  has  long  gone 
by  and  forever.  The  King  was  a  good  Romanist,  but  the 
Pope  read  him  out  of  the  Church,  and  so  the  King  and  the 
Pope  were  now  at  war.  But  the  Pope  was  sick  and  likely  to 
die,  and  the  King  sent  daily,  and  often  two  and  three  times 
a  day,  to  learn  how  the  Pope  was  getting  on.  It  was  said  in 
Rome,  and  it  is  probably  true,  that  the  Pope  and  the  King 
were  not  enemies,  except  on  paper  and  before  the  world.  It 
is  certain  that  the  King  had  the  offices  of  the  Church  admin 
istered  to  and  for  him  as  regularly  as  he  desired,  and,  as  an 
excommunicated  person,  he  could  not  have  had  this  privi 
lege  had  it  been  against  the  will  of  the  Church.  There  was 
some  secret  understanding  between  the  Pope  and  the  King, 
and  letters  frequently  passed  between  them.  Perhaps  they 
had  private  interviews,  in  the  palace  of  one  or  the  other. 
The  King  lived  in  the  Quirinal  and  the  Pope  in  the  Vatican 
Palace. 

While  the  Pope  was  supposed  to  be  dying,  we  met  the 
King  riding  in  an  open  carriage  on  the  Pincio  promenade. 
He  was  the  incarnation  of  high  living,  his  face  was  almost 
purple.  We  met  him  again,  and  the  third  time,  and  every 
time  we  saw  him  the  more  florid  was  the  face  of  the  King. 
Within  a  month  the  King  is  smitten  with  mortal  sickness. 
Now  the  physicians  are  at  his  bedside,  night  and  day.  The 
kings  of  all  Europe  send  messages  of  inquiry.  The  Pope  is 
anxious  and  is  among  the  inquirers.  The  last  sacrament  of 
the  Church  is  administered  to  the  dying.  The  King  is  dead : 
not  yet  sixty  years  old,  the  King  is  dead. 


280  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 


A  MORNING  ADVENTURE   IN   ROME. 

You  have  often  heard  of  the  SEPOLTE  VIVE,  the  buried- 
alive  nuns  of  Rome.  I  have  just  returned  from  their  convent. 
It  is  a  strange  story  that  you  are  to  read,  scarcely  credible  in 
this  age  of  the  world,  but  strangely  true  it  is,  and  "pity  'tis 
'tis  true." 

Leaving  the  church  St.  Maria  in  Monti,  where  repose  in 
full  view  the  body  of  a  canonized  beggar,  I  walked  up  the 
street,  and  in  a  moment  reached  a  narrow  alley  which 
seemed  to  lead  only  to  a  gloomy  arch  under  which  was  a 
painted  crucifix,  life-size,  with  two  old  monks  kneeling  in 
front  of  it.  I  walked  up  to  these  hideous  images,  and  on  the 
left  hand,  found  a  flight  of  stone  steps.  I  went  hastily  up,  for 
I  knew  at  once,  from  what  I  had  heard,  that  these  steps  led 
to  the  doors  of  the  concealed  convent  of  Farnesian  nuns,  the 
Sepolte  vive,  or  Buried  Alive. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  spirit  of  adventure,  certainly  of  curiosity, 
that  prompted  me  to  ascend  the  steps,  for  I  could  have  had 
no  expectation  of  gaining  admission  to  this  house  of  living 
death.  Mr.  Hare,  in  his  "  Walks  in  Rome,"  had  told  me 
"that  the  only  means  of  communicating  with  the  nuns  is  by 
rapping  on  a  barrel  which  projects  from  a  wall  on  the  plat 
form  above  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  when  a  muffled  voice  is 
heard  from  the  interior,  and  if  your  references  are  satisfac 
tory,  the  barrel  turns  round  and  eventually  discloses  a  key  by 
which  the  initiated  can  admit  themselves  to  a  small  chamber 
in  the  interior  of  the  convent." 

I  looked  in  vain  for  any  projecting  barrel,  but  having 
reached  an  open  gallery  above  the  roofs  of  houses  around, 
though  the  walls  of  the  convent  rose  still  higher,  I  entered 
a  recess,  on  the  walls  of  which  were  inscriptions  in  Latin  and 
Italian,  such  as,  "Who  enters  here  leaves  the  world  behind." 
"  Qui  non  diligit,  manet  in  morte."  In  the  wall  was  a  copper 
plate  about  one  foot  wide  by  two  feet  high,  which  I  supposed 
covered  the  opening  through  which  communication  was  to 
be  had  with  the  interior.  On  feeling  of  it,  I  found  it  was  the 


A  MORNING  ADVENTURE  IN  ROME.  281 

side  of  a  hollow  cylinder,  and  evidently  made  to  revolve  if 
necessary.  This  must  be  "  the  barrel "  through  which  the 
muffled  voice  of  the  woman  within  would  come  to  me,  if  the 
oracle  chose  to  reply  to  my  call.  I  knocked.  No  answer 
came,  but  the  hollow  chamber  gave  back  a  melancholy 
sound. 

My  sensations  at  this  moment  were  peculiar,  and  I  began 
to  wish  that  I  had  not  come,  or  at  least  that  I  had  brought 
with  me  some  companion  to  share  the  excitement,  if  not  the 
perils  of  this  adventure.  For  the  secret  of  this  convent  is 
that  the  nuns  who  once  enter  never  come  out  of  the  door 
again,  dead  or  alive  !  They  never  hear  from  the  world  out 
side.  No  mother's  voice  or  father's  love  intrudes  upon  this 
living  tomb  in  which  their  hopes  and  hearts  are  buried. 
They  sleep  every  night  in  a  coffin  in  which  they  are  to  be 
buried,  here,  when  they  finally  stop  breathing.  They  are 
told,  when  one  of  their  parents  dies,  that  some  loved  one  is 
dead,  so  that  each  one  is  to  be  thrilled  with  the  sorrow  that 
perhaps  her  mother  or  father  is  dead,  but  no  one  knows 
which  one  has  become  an  orphan.  It  is  said  that  they  become 
so  enamored  of  death,  that  they  invade  the  vaults  in  which 
their  dead  sisters  are  placed,  and  fondle  the  corpses  as  chil 
dren  play  with  dolls.  They  have  a  death's  head  on  the  dinner 
table,  and  often  lie  down  in  graves  prepared  with  their  own 
hands,  that  they  may  be  as  nearly  dead  themselves  as  they 
can  be  while  yet  constrained  to  live. 

Around  me  were  the  walls  of  this  huge  sepulchre,  silent  as 
the  tomb  itself,  cheerless,  hopeless,  the  home  of  madness  or 
despair.  It  was  Christmas  day.  The  sun  was  shining 
joyously  on  roofs  below  me,  and  all  the  glad  morning  the 
bells  of  Rome  had  been  ringing  the  carols  of  the  Saviour's 
natal  morn.  The  city  was  jubilant  with  the  songs  of  angels, 
and  the  churches  flung  open  all  their  doors  to  the  people  who 
flocked  to  the  choirs  and  the  altars,  their  hearts  the  mean 
while  shouting,  "  Unto  us  a  child  is  born."  But  no  glad 
sound  of  Merry  Christmas  enters  these  dead  walls  :  this  prL 
son  house  of  young  souls,  doomed  in  the  spring  time  of  life 
to  take  up  their  abode  in  coffins,  vaults  and  tombs. 


282  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

These  gloomy  thoughts  of  mine  were  destined  to  a  speedy 
interruption  and  a  sudden  conversion. 

I  knocked  again,  and  with  greater  force;  then  waited 
listening.  Presently  a  woman's  voice — she  must  have  been 
close  by  me — was  heard  from  the  other  side  of  the  copper 
plating,  and  this  is  what  passed  between  us : 

The  voice  (in  Italian). — "  What  do  you  wish  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  visit  the  convent  if  it  be  allowed." 

The  voice. — "  It  is  not  possible  for  you  to  come  in." 

'•'  I  would  see  the  convent,  as  I  have  come  from  a  far  coun 
try  and  have  heard  much  of  this  institution." 

The  voice. — "  You  cannot  come  in  ;"  and  then  the  woman 
broke  out  into  a  ringing,  hearty  laugh,  loud  and  long. 

I  was  taken  all  aback.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  they 
ever  laughed  inside  such  walls  as  these.  It  was  more  in  my 
mind  that  "  darkness,  death  and  long  despair  reign  in  eternal 
silence  there."  But  she  laughed  cheerily  at  the  idea  of  my 
being  such  a  fool  as  to  think  of  coming  in  there,  and  we 
chatted  gaily,  I  laughing  in  sympathy  on  the  outside,  and  she 
within,  a  thin  metallic  loose  plate  between  us. 

The  voice. — "  Do  you  speak  the  French  ?" 

"  Better  than  I  speak  the  Italian,  but  the  English  is  my 
own  tongue." 

She  said  she  would  send  some  one  to  converse  with  me, 
and  in  a  few  moments  another  voice  addressed  me  in  French, 
and  asked  if  I  would  walk  in  and  visit  the  chapel.  I  said 
that  I  wanted  to  seethe  convent,  and  the  mode  of  life  within. 
She  replied  that  it  was  impossible,  and  very  soon  began  to 
laugh  as  merrily  as  her  sister  had  done.  When,  in  her  play 
ful  French  banter,  she  asked  me,  "What  do  you  want  to 
see  ?"  I  said,  with  equal  playfulness,  "  I  want  to  see  you," 
her  merriment  broke  out  afresh,  and  I  verily  thought  for  a 
moment  I  had  won  my  way  into  the  fortress  by  the  irresisti 
ble  art. 

The  cylinder  revolved,  showing  me  that  it  was  divided  into 
chambers ;  it  paused  and  I  heard  something  fall  upon  the 
metal  bottom.  It  turned  still  more,  and  the  open  chamber 
presented  itself  to  me  with  two  keys  lying  in  it.  The  voice 


A  MORNING  ADVENTURE  IN  ROME.  283 

within  said,  "  The  larger  key  will  admit  you  to  the  chapel, 
and  the  smaller  will  open  a  door  inside  of  it." 

The  door  of  the  chapel  was  near  to  me,  the  only  door  there ; 
unlocking  it,  I  stood  upon  its  marble  floor.  It  was  a  simple 
chapel,  the  pictures  and  stools  and  images  such  as  are  seen 
in  thousands  of  Romish  churches.  But  the  marble  floor  was 
largely  made  of  sepulchral  slabs  on  which  were  recorded  the 
names  and  virtues  of  the  nuns  who  were  buried  underneath  ! 
How  sad  was  this  obituary  !  What  a  mausoleum  was  here ! 
How  many  weary,  wretched,  aching  hearts  had  rested  in  this 
cold  bed  !  I  read  the  epitaphs,  and  some  inscriptions  on  the 
walls,  and  mused  among  the  tombs  on  the  wreck  and  ruin  of 
young  lives,  tortured  and  murdered  and  buried  here,  by  the 
terrible  machinery  of  a  Church  that,  through  long  centuries, 
has  perpetuated  successive  living  sacrifices  of  blooming 
Roman  maidens  on  these  altars  of  superstition,  imposture 
and  crime.  For  what  is  martyrdom  by  fire,  or  the  wheel,  or 
the  axe,  or  by  lions  in  the  arena,  compared  with  the  long- 
drawn-out  agony  of  a  young  lady  who  eats  with  a  skeleton  at 
her  side,  and  sleeps  in  a  coffin  and  plays  with  a  corpse,  and 
this  for  years,  till  sweet  death  comes  in  person,  and  releases 
her  from  torment  by  clasping  her  in  his  cold  and  chaste 
embrace ! 

The  little  key  let  me  into  a  side  chamber,  the  cell  or  clois 
ter  of  a  nun,  fitted  up  as  a  show  or  specimen,  and  perhaps 
quite  unlike  the  real  cells  into  which  the  "profanum  vulgus," 
or  persons  of  the  male  persuasion,  may  never  enter.  It  was  a 
room  about  ten  feet  square,  with  a  chair  and  table  in  it : 
beyond  it  a  closet  with  a  crucifix  on  the  wall,  and,  still 
farther,  a  cell  just  large  enough  to  hold  a  person  in  a  chair : 
and  in  the  wall  was  a  perforated  plate  through  which  the 
nun  is  reputed  to  whisper  the  story  of  her  sins  into  the  ear  of 
an  invisible  priest  who  sits  in  the  outer  court,  and  by  a 
pleasing  fiction  is  supposed  never  to  come  within  these  walls. 

When  the  Mother  Superior  gives  an  audience,  it  is  an  affair 
of  state  more  mysterious  than  the  approach  to  the  celestial 
Emperor  of  China.  She  sits  in  the  midst  of  her  oratory 
veiled  in  black  from  head  to  foot,  and  the  visitor  sees  nothing 


284  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

but  this  statuesque  drapery  concealing  the  abbess.  Pope 
Gregory  XVI.  entered  by  his  divine  right  to  go  where  he 
pleased  among  the  faithful,  and  wishing  to  see  the  lady  with 
whom  he  conversed,  he  said  : 

"  Sister,  please  to  raise  your  veil." 

"  N<?,  father,"  she  answered,  "  it  is  against  the  rules." 

The  Pope  asked  very  much  the  same  question  that  I  did, 
and  got  about  the  same  answer. 

Having  penetrated  as  far  into  the  convent  as  the  rules  of 
the  order  permit,  I  returned  with  the  keys,  and  dropping 
them  into  the  cavity,  the  sound  summoned  the  unseen  sister 
to  the  portal,  and  she  asked  me, 

"  Were  you  pleased  with  the  church  ?" 

I  told  her  that  I  had  been  very  much  interested  in  what  I' 
had  seen,  but  would  be  pleased  to  see  more.  She  laughed 
again  right  merrily,  and  chatted  on  gaily  as  if  it  were  a  pleasure 
to  have  some  one  to  talk  with,  though  he  could  not  come  in. 
I  was  well  assured  from  what  I  heard,  her  tones  of  voice,  her 
cheerful  words,  and  her  right  merry  laugh,  that  they  have 
good  times  inside  in  spite  of  death's  heads,  cross-bones  and 
coffins.  I  do  not  believe  it  is  half  so  bad  to  be  buried  alive, 
as  they  would  have  it  to  appear,  and  a  lady,  who  was  per 
mitted  by  special  favor  to  visit  the  nuns,  testifies  that  they  . 
are  ruddy  and  rosy-looking  girls  notwithstanding  their 
ghostly  employments.  Twenty-seven  are  there  now,  and  I 
left  them  with  more  satisfaction  than  when  I  knocked  at  their 
inhospitable  door. 


THE  STORY  AND  THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  CECILIA. 

"  I  have  an  angel  which  thus  loveth  me, 
That  with  great  love,  whether  I  wake  or  sleep, 
Is  ready  aye  my  body  for  to  keep." 

— Chaucer, 

In  former  visits  in  Rome  I  carried  away  no  image  of  marble 
loveliness  that  lingered  so  tenderly  in  the  memory  as  that  of 


TffE   CffORClt  OF  ST.    CECILIA.  285 

the  statue  of  th e  martyr  Saint  Cecilia.  And  now,  when  for  the 
third  time,  I  came  to  this  city  filled,  above  ground  and  below, 
in  its  churches  and  palaces  and  piazzas,  with  the  masterpieces 
of  the  world's  art,  there  was  not  a  statue  or  a  painting  I  so 
much  desired  to  see  again'  as  this.  It  is  across  the  Tiber,  in 
the  church  that  bears  her  name.  But  let  me  tell  you  her 
story. 

Cecilia  was  a  Roman  girl  of  noble  parentage,  and  lived  in 
the  third  century.  She  had  great  wealth  and  great  beauty,  and 
at  the  early  age  of  sixteen  was  married  to  Valerian.  He  was 
a  pagan,  but  was  soon  converted  to  Christianity  by  the  pray 
ers  and  conversation  and  holy  living  of  his  young  wife,  who 
had  been  brought  to  Christ  before  she  married.  He  was 
baptized  before  he  confessed  to  her  that  he  had  been  con 
verted.  But  she  knew  it,  and  when  he  returned  from  his 
baptism  he  found  her,  with  an  angel,  singing  praises  to  God 
for  his  salvation.  She  persuaded  his  brother,  Tiburtius,  also 
to  embrace  the  faith  of  the  gospel,  and  both  of  them  suffered 
martyrdom,  as  they  were  publicly  known  as  zealous  advocates 
of  the  new  religion  which  was  to  overturn  the  idols  and 
temples  of  the  heathen. 

The  governor  of  the  city,  under  the  Emperor  Septimius  Se- 
verus,  knew  that  Cecilia  had  come  into  the  possession  of  great 
riches  by  the  death  of  her  relatives,  and  he  had  her  arrested 
in  her  own  house,  and  condemned  to  death.  In  the  houses 
of  the  wealthy  Romans  there  was  a  room,  adjoin  ing  the  baths, 
called  a  Sudartum,  into  which  steam  was  admitted  while  the 
person  wishing  to  take  a  bath  lay  on  a  marble  couch.  In  one 
of  these  rooms  she  was  shut  up,  and  the  heated  steam  driven 
in  upon  her  three  days,  by  which  time  it  would  be  expected 
that  she  was  boiled.  But  when  the  door  was  opened,  she  was 
as  safe  as  Daniel  in  the  den,  or  the  three  children  in  the  fur 
nace.  God  had  sent  cooling  showers  to  moderate  the  heat 
of  the  steam,  and  Cecilia  was  the  more  radiant  and  lovely  for 
the  terrible  ordeal  she  had  passed  through.  She  was  a  singer 
"of  such  ravishing  sweetness  and  power  that  the  angels  came 
down  from  heaven  to  listen  and  to  join  their  voices  with  hers." 
When  the  door  of  the  bath  was  opened  she  was  singing  the 


286  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

praises  of  her  Saviour,  and  the  coarse  men  who  were  to  carry 
off  her  body  were  overcome  by  the  melody  of  her  voice. 

Her  deliverance  from  death  was  looked  upon  as  a  miracle, 
and  the  governor  was  afraid  to  make  another  attempt  in 
public  to  put  her  to  death.  A  man  was  sent  to  cut  off  her 
head  in  the  secret  chambers  of  her  own  house.  He  struck 
with  the  axe  three  times  and  did  not  succeed.  The  Roman 
law  forbade  the  victim  to  be  stricken  more  than  three  times. 
The  records  of  her  martyrdom  say :  "  The  Christians  found 
her  bathed  in  her  blood,  and  during  three  days  she  preached 
and  taught  like  a  doctor  of  the  Church,  with  such  sweetness 
and  eloquence  that  four  hundred  pagans  were  converted.  On 
the  third  day  she  was  visited  by  Pope  Urban,  to  whose  care 
she  tenderly  committed  the  poor  whom  she  nourished,  and 
to  him  she  bequeathed  the  palace  in  which  she  had  lived,  that 
it  might  be  consecrated  as  a  temple  to  the  Saviour.  Then, 
thanking  God  that  he  considered  her  a  humble  woman, 
worthy  to  share  the  glory  of  his  heroes,  and  with  her  eyes 
apparently  fixed  upon  the  heavens  opening  before  her,  she 
departed  to  her  heavenly  bridegroom." 

The  Christians  buried  her  in  the  Catacombs,  and  all  trace 
of  the  spot  and  of  the  remains  was  lost  in  the  lapse  of  time. 
Where  her  palace  stood,  the  church  that  bears  her  name,  and 
in  which  we  are  now  standing,  was  built  immediately  after  her 
death,  A.D.  280.  More  than  five  hundred  years  roll  on,  and 
the  body  of  the  saint  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  Then  Pope 
Paschal  I.  fell  asleep  one  morning  during  the  service  in  St. 
Peter's — just  think  of  it,  a  Pope  asleep  during  morning  pray 
ers — while  thinking  of  St.  Cecilia,  and  longing  to  find  her 
burial  place.  In  a  vision  she  appeared  to  him  and  told  him 
where  she  was  lying,  by  the  side  of  her  husband  and  his 
brother  in  the  catacomb  of  Calixtus.  The  next  day — why 
not  that  day  does  not  appear — he  was  obedient  to  the  vision, 
and  found  the  lovely  saint  robed  in  gold  tissue,  with  linen 
clothes  steeped  in  blood  at  her  feet.  She  was  not  lying  on 
her  back,  as  a  body  in  a  tomb,  but  on  her  right  side,  as  if  in 
bed,  with  her  knees  slightly  drawn  up,  and  having  the  appear 
ance  of  one  asleep.  She  was  now  removed  to  the  Church, 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.    CECILIA.  287 

which  was  rebuilt  with  more  magnificence  than  the  first,  and 
the  body  was  laid  under  the  altar.  It  slept  there  eight  hun 
dred  years  more,  when  the  tomb  was  opened  and  the  body 
was  lying  in  the  same  peaceful  state,  with  all  the  robes  of  the 
grave  preserved  in  the  freshness  of  the  burial  morn.  The 
Pope  of  the  period  and  all  the  people  hastened  to  the  church 
and  gazed  with  edifying  wonder  on  the  sleeping  form.  The 
greatest  sculptor  of  the  day  made  a  copy  of  the  figure,  and 
this  is  the  beautiful  marble  statue  which  we  are  now  seeing 
as  it  lies  on  Cecilia's  tomb,  in  which  are  her  remains. 

"  It  is  the  statue  of  a  lady,  perfect  in  form,  and  affecting 
from  resemblance  to  reality  in  the  drapery  of  white  marble, 
and  her  gravitation  of  the  limbs"  is  such  as  no  living  form 
assumes,  but  is  perfectly  true  to  the  attitudes  of  the  dead. 
The  artist  has  placed  this  inscription  on  his  work  :  "  Behold 
the  body  of  the  most  holy  virgin  Cecilia,  whom  I  myself  saw 
lying  incorrupt  in  her  tomb.  I  have  in  this  marble  expressed 
for  thee,  the  same  saint  in  the  very  same  posture  of  body." 

There  are  in  the  church,  scenes  in  the  life  of  the  saint,  her 
own  picture  by  Cuido,  tombs  of  illustrious  men,  and  the  altar 
canopy  with  statuettes  of  the  saint  and  her  companions  in 
suffering  for  Christ ;  but  all  the  interest  of  the  visit  centred 
in  this  remarkable  statue  and  the  room  in  which  the  saint 
was  first  called  to  endure  torture.  The  Sudarhtm  is  a  few 
steps  below  the  floor  of  the  church,  a  marble-floored  apart 
ment,  with  appliances  for  hot  water  and  steam,  and  we  are 
assured  that  this  is  the  very  same  chamber  in  the  palace  of 
Cecilia  in  which  she  was  three  days  and  nights  subjected  to 
the  boiling  heat,  without  experiencing  any  bodily  harm.  Such 
is  the  story.  The  kindly  priest  who  showed  us  the  church 
related  these  incidents  with  great  simplicity,  and  perhaps 
believed  them  all. 

In  the  gallery  of  Bologna  we  saw  the  celebrated  picture  by 
Raphael  of  St.  Cecilia  and  her  maiden  choir.  Copies  have 
made  it  familiar  the  world  over.  Cecilia  is  the  muse  of  music 
now.  Her  name  mingles  sweetly  in  song,  and  St.  Cecilia's 
day  is  more  famous  in  the  poem  of  Dryden  than  in  the  Romish 
Calendar. 


283  IREN^US  LETTERS. 


THE    BEGGAR'S    CHURCH    AND    THE    BEGGARS 
OF    ITALY. 

A  row  of  beggars  stood  in  front  of  the  church.  The 
church  is  on  the  corner  of  the  Piazza  Santa  Maria  in  Monti, 
and,  like  hundreds  of  others  in  Rome  and  over  Italy,  has 
nothing  in  its  front  to  attract  attention.  The  beggars  stood 
on  the  steps,  and  did  not  beg  as  I  approached  and  passed 
through  the  line  into  the  porch.  It  was  something  quite 
unusual  to  meet  a  beggar  and  not  be  begged.  And  they 
were  very  ragged,  very  dirty,  very  miserable-looking  beggars, 
but  they  did  not  beg. 

I  passed  them  and  went  into  the  church.  Over  the  altar 
is  a  painting,  not  of  the  Saviour,  not  of  an  Apostle,  not  even 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  of  whom  there  are  more  pictures  than  of 
all  the  saints  in  the  world.  The  painting  represents  a  beg 
gar  in  the  midst  of  the  great  Roman  Coliseum,  giving 
money  to  a  group  of  beggars  around  him,  a  beggar  giving  to 
beggars ! 

On  the  left  of  the  altar  is  a  tomb,  and  in  it  or  in  front  of  it 
lies  exposed  at  full  length,  in  beggar  raiment,  in  the  gown  of 
a  wandering  pilgrim,  with  staff  and  scrip,  the  body  of  a  man, 
a  mummied  man  indeed,  disgusting  with  its  skinny,  dark, 
dead  visage,  grinning  as  if  in  mockery. 

His  name  is  Joseph  Labre.  He  was  born  in  Boulogne, 
France,  in  1748,  and  his  parents  were  not  poor.  But,  at  a 
very  early  age,  he  took  to  a  life  of  vagrant  beggary  in  the 
name  of  religion.  The  rules  of  two  or  three  holy  orders  that 
he  entered  did  not  agree  with  his  health,  and  he  heard  a 
voice  ivithin  calling  him  to  a  life  of  travel  in  penitence  and 
charity.  Through  seven  years  he  wandered  in  Europe,  visit 
ing  the  most  celebrated  churches  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  and  in 
those  years  it  is  said  that  he  travelled  on  foot  five  thousand 
leagues.  In  the  year  1777  he  went  to  Italy  and  took  up  his 
abode  in  Rome,  in  the  largest  building  in  it,  even  in  the  Col 
iseum  itself.  Sometimes  he  slept  in  the  porch  of  the 
churches,  but  as  he  became  infirm,  he  made  a  hermit's  cell  in 


THE  B2GGARS  OF  ITALY.  289 

the  Coliseum,  from  which  he  often  sallied  out  to  beg,  return 
ing  there  to  pass  the  night.  In  this  arena,  where  the  games 
and  fights  and  martyrdoms  in  ages  past  entertained  the 
Romans,  Labre  held  his  levees  of  beggars,  and  distributed 
among  them  the  money  and  the  bread  he  had  received  from 
others.  Thousands  of  visitors,  coming  here,  would  take  an 
interest  in  the  hermit  of  the  Coliseum,  and  the  romance  of 
the  place  and  the  story  of  the  religious  tramp  who  had 
scoured  all  Europe  on  foot,  would  naturally  excite  the  curi 
osity  of  those  who  found  him  there,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
give  him  something  to  keep  body  and  soul  together.  His 
receipts  were  large,  and  if  he  had  been  disposed  to  hoard  as 
a  miser  he  might  have  made  a  heap  of  money.  But  he  got 
only  to  give,  and  at  night  was  as  poor  as  in  the  morning. 

It  was  not  far  from  the  Coliseum  to  the  Church  of  St.  Mary 
in  the  Mount,  and  there  he  resorted  to  say  his  prayers.  One 
day  he  fell  on  the  steps  and  hurt  himself  so  severely  that  he 
did  not  long  survive.  Being  carried  into  a  house  near  the 
church,  he  died  there  April  16,  1783.  The  bed  on  which  he 
died,  and  his  crucifix,  and  the  small  earthly  possessions  a 
wandering  mendicant  might  possess,  are  preserved  with  pious 
care  in  the  room  that  was  made  holy  by  his  death,  and  his 
body,  being  suitably  prepared  for  the  purpose,  is  laid  in  his 
favorite  church  in  full  view  of  the  admiring  people. 

In  the  year  1860  the  Pope  canonized  him,  that  is,  made 
him  a  saint,  and  appointed  a  day — the  day  of  his  death^  April 
16 — to  be  observed  in  his  honor.  It  is  required  of  a  saint 
that  he  be  able  to  stand  a  trial,  which  is  conducted  in  due 
form,  though  he  may  have  been  dead  a  thousand  years.  All 
the  forms  are  observed,  and  if  the  verdict  is  that  the  man 
was  all  right,  the  Pope  issues  a  decree  of  saintship.  It  was 
attempted  recently  to  make  a  saint  of  Christopher  Columbus, 
but  he  did  not  pass,  though  he  was  certainly  a  much  better 
man  than  many  others  who  are  invoked  in  the  Church. 

Columbus  gave  a  new  world  to  the  Church  and  to  man 
kind,  but  he  was  no  saint  in  the  Pope's  esteem.  Labre  gave 
the  alms  he  received  to  beggars  like  himself,  and  won  the 
palm  of  beatitude.  By  these  honors  to  beggary  the  Church 


290  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

of  Rome  teaches  that  it  is  no  disgrace  to  beg,  and  that  it  is  a 
virtue  to  give  to  beggars.  The  vast  number  of  beggars  in 
Romish  countries  is  not  caused  by  the  poverty  of  the  people. 
They  are  as  able  to  provide  things  needful  as  the  inhabitants 
of  Protestant  countries  are,  and  far  better  able  than  they  are 
in  many  Protestant  lands.  But  it  is  held  to  be  meritorious 
to  beg,  and  the  tribe  of  beggars  in  the  cities  of  Italy  are 
among  the  worst  of  the  population.  They  gamble  among 
themselves,  and  the  winner  goes  off  to  spend  his  money  in 
drink,  and  the  loser  fastens  upon  the  first  victim  he  meets  to 
beg  for  more.  The  native  Italian  people  do  not  give  to  beg 
gars,  to  any  great  extent.  The  money  comes  from  travellers, 
who  find  it  easier  to  give  a  trifle  than  to  refuse.  Vallery  tells 
of  one  of  the  hospitals  in  Rome  where  there  are  fifty  "  Sisters" 
who  are  nurses,  who  get  drunk,  make  love,  and  carry-on  gener 
ally,  and  all  this  in  the  name  of  charity.  In  New  York  the 
Romish  people  will  fight  fiercely  to  get  all  the  children  into 
their  reformatories  if  the  State  is  to  pay  for  their  support, 
but  the  same  people  will  let  their  poor  go  by  hundreds  to  the 
Protestant  hospitals  and  never  give  a  cent  for  their  care. 
The  charity  of  Romanism  is  a  sham.  Under  the  miserable 
pretence  that  so  much  given  will  pay  for  so  much  pardon, 
works  will  work  out  salvation,  and  heaven  can  be  bought 
with  alms,  the  Romish  Church  neglects  her  own  poor  and 
leaves  them  largely  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Protestants,  or 
to  beg  on  the  street  from  door  to  door. 

Two  women  in  the  black  habit  and  white  cap  of  some  sis 
terhood  have  just  been  to  my  door  with  an  appeal  for  alms. 
As  I  ascended  to  my  room  in  the  hotel  a  man  in  priestly 
attire  was  pacing  the  corridor.  I  had  scarcely  sat  down 
before  he  was  in  my  room  begging.  We  go  to  a  church  and 
run  the  gauntlet  of  beggars  before  we  enter,  and  are  beset  by 
them  when  we  come  out.  There  are  not  half  so  many  now 
as  there  were  twenty  years  ago,  but  there  are  so  many  as  to 
make  beautiful  Italy  almost  a  nuisance.  Beggary  is  the  nat 
ural  outcome  of  Romanism.  Beggary  will  be  found  to  some 
extent  in  all  lands,  but  its  home  and  source,  its  parentage,  is 
the  doctrine  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  That  Church  will  beg- 


JEWS'    QUARTER  IN  ROME.  29! 

gar  any  country  which  it  converts.  It  does  well  for  itself  to 
make  a  saint  of  the  beggar  Labre  and  worship  him  once  a 
year. 


JEWS'  QUARTER  IN  ROME. 

"It  is  most  absurd  and  unsuitable  that  the  Jews,  whose 
one  crime  has  plunged  them  into  everlasting  slavery,  under 
the  plea  that  Christian  magnanimity  allows  them,  should 
presume  to  dwell  and  mix  with  Christians,  not  bearing  any 
mark  of  distinction,  and  should  have  Christian  servants,  yea, 
even  buy  houses." 

The  sentiment  and  morality  of  the  statement  whiqh  I  have 
quoted  are  abhorrent  to  all  the  right  feelings  of  humanity, 
but  I  will  prove  it  to  be  good  doctrine  according  to  the  latest 
decrees  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  It  is  an  extract  from  a 
manifesto  put  forth  officially  and  solemnly  by  Pope  Paul  IV., 
A.D.  1555-59.  The  Pope  is  infallible,  said  the  last  great  Coun 
cil.  Therefore  the  sentiment  I  have  quoted  is  all  correct. 

In  other  words,  the  Pope  made  a  great  mistake,  and  is  not 
infallible,  or  that  is  good  doctrine. 

I  think  the  Pope  denied  Christ  when  he  issued  that  awful 
bull  against  the  Jews.  While  they  were  committing  that 
crime,  Christ  prayed,  "  Father,  forgive  them,  they  know  not 
what  they  do."  Yet  the  Pope,  claiming  to  be  the  vicar  of 
Christ  on  the  earth,  would  deny  the  children  of  those  Jews, 
1 500  years  after  the  sin  of  their  fathers,  the  common  rights  of 
humanity.  Christ  forgave  the  fathers  :  the  Pope  would  visit 
the  fathers'  sin  upon  the  children  unto  thousands  of  genera 
tions. 

And,  on  this  diabolical  principle,  the  Jews  have  suffered  at 
the  hands  of  the  apostasy  such  cruel  wrongs  as  make  one 
blush  for  his  common  heritage  of  manhood  with  such  a 
Church. 

I  was  wandering  in  the  Jews'  quarter  in  Rome,  and  came 
upon  a  church  with  this  inscription  in  Hebrew  and  in  Latin : 


292  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

"All  day  long  I  have  stretched  out  my  hands  to  a  disobedient 
and  gainsaying  people."  A  painting  represents  the  Crucifix 
ion  of  Christ.  And  this  church  was  erected  by  a  Jew  Con 
verted  to  the  religion  of  Rome,  and,  in  the  true  spirit  of  his 
new  religion,  he  put  up  this  sign  and  these  words  that  they 
might  taunt  and  aggravate  the  people  who  could  not  but  be 
hold  the  picture  and  the  text.  Pope  Gregory  XIII.  improved 
upon  this  expedient,  and  compelled  all  the  Jews  in  Rome  to 
hear  a  sermon  every  week,  while  his  officers  were  sent  into 
the  Jews'  quarter  "  to  drive  men,  women  and  children  into  the 
church,  with  scourges,  and  to  lash  them  while  there  if  they 
were  inattentive."  And  one  of  the  pious  Popish  writers  says 
"it  was  a  moving  sight  to  see  these  besotted,  blind,  restive 
and  perishing  Hebrews,  haled,  as  it  were,  by  the  head  and 
hair,  and  against  their  obstinate  hearts,  brought  to  taste  the 
heavenly  grace." 

This  revolting  mission  work,  more  like  the  Mahometan 
Propagation  Society  than  a  Christian  Church,  was  prosecuted 
relentlessly  until  the  time  of  Pius  IX.  He  began  his  reign 
as  a  liberal,  and  its  early  years  were  signalized  by  removing 
some  of  the  atrocious  restrictions  imposed  on  the  Jews; 
Before  his  day  they  were  confined  by  night  to  their  section 
of  the  town,  gates  being  kept  fastened  across  the  streets  to 
keep  them  in.  But  their  treatment  from  the  time  of  the 
Popes  becoming  the  rulers  of  the  city,  has  been  a  perpetual 
stain  upon  the  Church.  Far  worse  have  these  so-called 
Christians  used  them  than  the  heathen  did.  They  were 
brought  as  slaves  by  Pompey,  but  they  became  citizens,  and 
rose  to  office,  wealth  and  power.  Some  of  the  Roman  Em 
perors  oppressed  them  severely,  but  it  remained  for  a  Pope 
to  "forbid  Christians  to  trade,  to  eat,  or  to  dwell  with  them  ; 
and  to  prohibit  the  Jews  from  walking  in  the  streets,  or  from 
occupying  any  public  post,  or  to  build  any  new  synagogues." 
During  the  long  period  of  two  centuries  the  Jews  were  com 
pelled  to  furnish  every  year  a  number  of  their  people  to  run 
races  in  the  Corso  during  Carnival,  as  horses  do  now,  "  amid 
the  hoots  of  the  populace."  The  asses  ran  first,  then  the 
Jews, — naked,  with  only  a  band  round  their  loins, — then  the 


JEWS"   QUARTER  IX  ROME.  293 

buffaloes,  then  the  Barbary  horses.  Afterwards  they  were 
allowed  to  commute  by  paying  an  annual  fine  instead  of  sub 
mitting  to  this  beastly  association. 

Pope  Sixtus  V.  was  kindly  disposed  toward  the  Jews, 
pleading,  as  his  apology  for  not  being  hard  on  them,  that 
they  were  "the  family  from  whom  Christ  came."  He  en 
couraged  them  to  pursue  trades,  traffic  with  Christians,  build 
houses  and  synagogues  ;  but  all  his  kindness  was  lost  on  his 
infallible  successors,  who  repealed  his  laws  and  made  the 
burdens  of  the  Jews  greater  than  ever  before.  Innocent 
XIII.  confined  their  business  to  trading  in  old  clothes,  rags, 
and  iron  junk.  It  is  quite  probable  that  the  pursuit  of  this 
business  has  become  hereditary  among  them,  and  hence  it  is 
that  in  London,  New  York,  Warsaw  or  Rome,  the  old-clo'- 
man  is  a  Jew,  and  the  junk  shop  is  kept  by  one  of  the  same 
persuasion. 

All  these  restrictive  laws  are  now  done  away,  but  the  Jews 
continue  to  dwell  in  one  quarter,  and  to  pursue  the  same  sort 
of  trade,  enlarged  indeed,  but  substantially  in  the  same  line. 
They  are  the  scavengers  of  the  markets  of  the  world,  the 
hoarders  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  everything:  antiquaries  in 
raiment,  and  working  by  stealth  to  dispose  of  their  wares. 
They  deal  in  diamonds,  but  they  make  no  sign.  They  will 
sell  you  the  most  elegant  embroideries  that  the  fingers  of 
Oriental  women  have  made,  but  you  will  not  see  the  goods 
adorning  shop  windows.  The  seven-branched  candlestick 
may  be  on  the  outer  wall  as  a  symbol  of  the  religion  within, 
but  unless  you  have  cut  your  wisdom-teeth,  you  will  be  as 
thoroughly  done  as  you  would  be  in  Chatham  or  Wall  street, 
New  York. 

This  Jews'  quarter  in  Rome  is  called  the  Ghetto,  from  a 
Hebrew  word,  meaning  broken,  cast  off,  and  is  aptly  applied 
to  the  people  and  their  pursuit.  There  was  a  weird  fascina 
tion  about  their  vile  streets  and  shops,  and  their  hang-dog 
looks,  that  led  me  often,  and  again,  to  wander  in  the  midst 
of  them.  In  every  city  of  Europe  they  have  been  a  mystery 
to  me,  and  in  Rome  more  than  elsewhere.  It  may  be  super 
stition,  or  it  is  a  deep  religious  conviction,  that  these  children 


294  I  REN  A?  US  LETTERS. 

of  Abraham  are  under  a  ban  of  some  kind  that  makes  them 
and  their  refuge  a  Ghetto  wherever  they  go.  I  was  visiting 
the  Portico  of  Octavia,  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  all  the 
Roman  ruins,  for  the  stories  that  linger  about  it  make  its 
gorgeous  architecture  vocal  with  the  music  and  song  of  old 
Imperial  Rome:  but  this  splendid  portico  is  in  the  filthiest 
part  of  this  Ghetto,  and  the  daughters  of  Israel  have  the 
square  for  a  fish  market.  I  \vrs  at  the  palace  of  the  Cenci, 
whose  gloomy  halls  and  walls  are  frightful  with  memories 
of  crimes  that  years  and  oceans  cannot  wash  away,  and  the 
windows  look  out  on  the  square  where  the  schools  and  the 
chief  synagogue  of  the  Jews  proclaim  the  presence  and  the 
worship  of  this  peculiar  race.  David's  harp  and  the  timbrel 
of  Miriam  and  the  brazen  candlestick,  are  on  the  outside, 
and  within,  the  Urim  and  Thummim  are  in  symbols  and  the 
Holy  of  Holies,  as  though  God  still  dwelt  in  tabernacles 
made  with  men's  hands,  and  had  not  cast  off  this,  his  once 
covenant  people.  The  Cenci  palace  looks  out  on  this  piazza, 
and  cencz,  in  Italian,  is  the  word  for  rags  or  shreds  that  are 
cast  away. 

Wherever  I  went  among  them,  they  were  sitting  in  the 
doors  of  their  little  dark  and  dirty  shops,  in  the  midst  of 
heaps  of  rubbish,  woollen  and  silk,  red,  white,  and  blue,  all 
sorts  and  sizes ;  while  the  women,  sad-eyed  and  silent,  were 
sewing  steadily  and  deftly,  converting  these  ragged  remnants 
of  the  cast-off  clothing  of  the  rich  and  great  into  garments 
more  gorgeous,  perhaps,  than  the  original.  We  read  in 
works  of  fiction  of  the  beauty  of  Jewish  women :  and  of  the 
Italians,  too.  But  hard  work,  and  poverty  and  oppression, 
and  dark,  damp  dwellings,  in  a  few  generations,  blight  all 
the  bloom  of  beauty,  and  leave  on  the  bronzed  cheeks, 
and  matted  hair  and  sullen  brows,  and  tight-closed  skinny 
lips,  nothing  to  make  you  believe  that  the  love  song  of 
Solomon  could  ever  have  been  addressed  to  one  of  these : 
"Thou  art  fair,  my  love,  my  dove,  my  undefiled."  But  I  did 
repeat,  as  I  stood  among  these  wretched-looking  Hebrew 
mothers  and  maids,  the  words  of  the  prophet,  for  I  had  them 
(the  words  and  the  women)  before  me : 


THE  APOSTLE  IN  ROME.  295 

"  From  the  daughter  of  Zion,  all  her  beauty  is  departed ; 
she  that  was  great  among  the  nations,  and  princess  among 
the  provinces,  how  is  she  become  tributary !  She  weepeth 
sore  in  the  night,  and  her  tears  are  on  her  cheeks ;  among 
all  her  lovers  she  hath  none  to  comfort  her:  all  her  friends 
have  dealt  treacherously  with  her:  they  are  become  her  ene 
mies.  Judah  is  gone  into  captivity,  because  of  affliction,  and 
because  of  great  servitude ;  she  dwelleth  among  the  heathen, 
she  findeth  no  rest ;  all  her  persecutors  overtook  her  be 
tween  the  straits.  How  hath  the  Lord  covered  the  daughter 
of  Zion  with  a  cloud  in  his  anger !" 


THE  APOSTLE  IN   ROME. 

I  was  in  Naples  when  the  New  York  Observer  came  to  me 
with  the  admirable  paper  in  it,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Rogers,  on  the 
journey  of  Paul  to  Rome  from  Puteoli.  It  was  the  exposi 
tion  of  one  of  the  Sunday  School  lessons.  If  any  reader 
overlooks  those  papers  of  Dr.  Rogers  because  they  are  writ 
ten  for  the  Sunday  School  department,  he  misses  some  of 
the  most  interesting  and  instructive  columns  of  the  Observer. 
I  find  time,  in  the  midst  of  travel,  to  read  them,  and  always 
with  gratitude  to  the  author.  But  as  I  was  saying : 

We  had  been  riding  out  from  Naples  along  the  shores  of 
that  bay  of  all  bays — what  wondrous  beauty  it  boasts — it 
was  the  joy  of  all  Italy  when  Pliny  and  Cicero,  and  Virgil 
and  Horace,  lived  and  wrote — it  is  just  as  lovely  now  as  it 
was  then — and  nothing  lovelier  in  the  wide  earth  or  sea  ha. 
since  been  found — we  had  just  turned  the  shoulder  of  the 
promontory  of  Posilipo,  and  were  looking  off  upon  the 
islands, — Capri,  where  Garibaldi  is  passing  the  evening  of 
his  days, — Ischia  and  Proscida, — when  I  pointed  to  Pozzeoli 
on  the  coast,  and  said  "  That  is  Puteoli  where  the  Apostle 
landed  on  his  way  to  Rome :  there  began  his  journey  by 
land  :  at  the  Three  Taverns  and  Appii  Forum  he  was  met 


296  1RENMUS  LETTERS. 

by  the  brethren,  and  with  them  went  by  the  Appian  Way  to 
the  Imperial  City." 

As  we  were  standing  on  this  projecting  point  of  view,  I 
said  to  my  friends  :  "  This  is  the  site  of  one  of  the  most  lux 
urious  and  celebrated  residences  of  the  Augustan  age  :  here 
Vadius  Pollio,  a  Roman  of  vast  wealth,  had  his  villa,  and 
the  Emperor  himself  was  sometimes  his  guest.  There  was 
his  fish  pond,  and  he  fed  his  fish  on  his  slaves,  who  were,  at 
his  pleasure,  chopped  up  and  thrown  into  the  water  for  his 
carp  to  eat:  one  day  when  the  Emperor  Augustus  was  visit 
ing  him,  a  slave  offended  Pollio  by  breaking  a  glass,  and  the 
master  thought  to  show  the  Emperor  his  greatness  by  order 
ing  the  slave  to  be  cut  up  and  thrown  into  the  water  for  the 
dinner  of  the  fish.  Augustus  took  the  command  into  his  own 
hands,  and  ordered  all  the  glass  in  the  house  to  be  pitched  into 
the  water,  thus  giving  to  his  friend  a  lesson  in  humanity  which 
he  would  not  soon  forget.  The  story  is  useful  in  showing 
what  was  the  Roman  law  and  practice  in  regard  to  slavery 
in  the  time  of  our  Saviour  and  the  Apostles.  A  master 
could  and  did  kill  his  slaves  at  his  own  pleasure.  We  must 
bear  these  facts  in  mind  when  we  study  the  teachings  of  the 
New  Testament  on  this  much-litigated  subject." 

We  were  looking  off  at  the  bay  where  Paul  landed  on  his 
route  to  Rome.  We  have  seen,  in  a  former  letter,  that  Peter 
left  no  trace  of  his  going  to  Rome,  or  his  staying  there,  and 
we  cannot  find  in  the  writings  of  any  of  his  correspondents 
or  companions,  or  in  any  of  his  letters — of  which  we  have 
several — the  least  allusion  to  his  having  been  at  any  time  in 
that  city.  Mr.  Augustus  Hare  speaks  of  "  ultra  Protestants" 
doubting  that  Peter  was  in  Rome.  What  an  "ultra  Protes 
tant"  is  I  do  not  know,  but  I  do  know  that  a  man  who  be 
lieves  that  Paul  could  live  several  years  in  Rome,  and  write 
letters  to  the  churches  in  the  East  mentioning  by  name 
humble,  obscure,  but  good  Christian  people,  and  never  once 
name  the  great  Apostle  Peter  if  he  were  there,  or  that  Peter 
could  be  in  Rome  and  become  the  head  of  the  Church,  even 
its  Pontiff,  and  in  his  writings  make  no  mention  of  the  city 
or  his  work,  or  of  Paul,  the  prisoner  and  Apostle,  must  have 


THE  APOSTLE  IN  ROME,  297 

more  credulity  than  any  Protestant  whom  I  ever  met.  The 
improbability  approaching  very  nearly  to  an  absurdity. 

Paul  we  know  was  in  Rome ;  we  have  his  own  word  for 
it ;  and  Paul's  word  is  good  authority  for  all  except  those 
who  find  it  in  the  way  of  their  pet  prejudices.  Then  they 
say,  "  That's  where  Paul  and  I  differ."  The  ease  with  which 
such  people  dispose  of  Paul  would  be  amusing,  were  it  not 
that  Paul  wrote  as  the  Spirit  bade  him.  To  set  Paul  aside 
is  to  reject  the  Spirit  as  well.  However,  all  are  agreed  that 
Paul  came  to  Rome ;  and  when  we  come  to  Rome  also,  we 
are  fond  of  finding  where  he  lived,  and  preached,  and  suf 
fered.  The  Church  of  Rome  has  managed  to  have  places 
distinctly  marked  and  duly  honored  which  the  Apostle  made 
memorable,  and,  with  some  little  credulity,  we  may  take  the 
most  of  them  as  well-enough  established.  The  church  of 
Maria  in  Via  Lata  is  built  upon  another  church,  *now  sub 
terranean,  and  this  lower  one  is  the  very  house  in  which 
Paul  was  lodged  when  he  was  first  brought  into  the  city. 
He  lived  two  years  in  one  house,  and  it  was  large  enough 
for  the  congregations  that  thronged  him  and  disputed 
among  themselves  as  to  the  truth  they  heard.  Chrysostom 
wrote  in  his  Homily  on  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans :  "  Though 
I  could  celebrate  the  praises  of  Rome  for  her  greatness,  for 
her  beauty,  power,  wealth  and  warlike  exploits,  I  pass  these 
things  by,  and  glorify  her  most  that  Paul  wrote  to  the 
Romans,  loved  them,  came  to  them,  preached  among  them, 
and  died  with  them." 

I  have  no  faith  in  the  Mamertine  Prison  legends,  though  I 
did  go  down  into  the  dungeon.  A  little  church  at  the  foot 
of  the  Capitoline  Hill  is  named  "Peter  in  Prison,"  for  he  is 
said  to  have  shared  the  dungeon  with  Paul,  and  the  first 
chamber  we  enter  below  this  church  is  Peter's  prison.  Dick 
ens  was  much  affected  by  the  dread  and  gloom  of  this  place, 
and  the  votive  offerings  hung  up  in  it,  daggers,  knives,  pistols, 
clubs,  tools  of  murder,  with  the  blood-rust  on  them  :  as  if 
murder  were  atoned  for  by  devoting  the  dagger  to  the  church. 
I  am  so  sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  drama  of  Romanism, 
that  these  things  excite  in  me  only  the  sense  of  the  ridicu- 


298  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

lous.  But  the  classic  history  of  these  dungeons  is  intensely 
thrilling.  All  the  prisons  in  the  world  could  not,  together, 
unfold  such  a  story  as  these  great  tufa  rocks  could  tell  had 
they  tongues  to  speak.  These  dungeons  were  the  city  and 
State  prisons  before  and  during  the  reign  of  the  emperors ! 
Catiline's  conspirators  were  strangled  here.  Illustrious 
Romans  have  killed  themselves  in  these  pits.  Jugurtha  was 
starved  to  death  in  one  of  them.  And,  in  the  midst  of  such 
history,  the  Church  of  Rome  infuses  the  puerile  fancy  that 
Peter  rested  his  head  against  a  stone  which  is  now  kissed 
with  reverence  by  the  credulous.  And  the  dungeon  is  next 
disclosed  where  Paul  and  Peter  were  chained  to  a  pillar 
nine  months !  A  spring  of  water  in  this  dungeon  (the 
church  tells  us)  came  in  answer  to  Peter's  prayers,  but  as 
the  spring  was  mentioned  by  historians  before  Peter  was 
born,  it  was  a  miracle  of  the  imagination. 

The  Palace  of  the  Csesars  is  identified  by  Paul  himself  as 
the  scene  of  his  labors,  his  trial,  his  deliverance,  and  his 
great  success  as  a  preacher  of  the  gospel.  We  know  where 
the  palace  was,  and  the  ruins  are  before  us,  vast,  majestic, 
suggestive.  Even  on  this  spot,  the  most  distinctly  marked, 
we  must  guess  very  freely,  and  trust  largely  to  the  contradic 
tory  speculations  of  antiquarians;  but  the  household  of 
Caesar  we  know  was  within  the  walls  of  the  palaces  that  cov 
ered  these  grounds,  the  substructions  of  which  are  disin 
terred,  so  that  the  sunlight  of  the  ipth  century  illumines  the 
chambers  that  were  brilliant  with  imperial  splendors  in  the 
first.  Paul  might  have  had  a  large  congregation  had  he 
preached  nowhere  in  Rome  but  in  the  palace  of  Nero.  At 
the  present  day,  the  palace  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia  is  said 
to  have  five  thousand  persons  in  it  and  in  its  service.  The 
Roman  emperors  had  far  greater  numbers  of  servants,  re 
tainers  and  courtiers  about  them  than  any  modern  princes 
have.  We  find  the  Basilica,  or  court  room,  in  which  the 
emperor  in  person  heard  law  cases  that  were  appealed  to 
him.  In  this,  or  in  one  like  it  on  the  same  ground,  the 
great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  stood  to  be  tried  for  his  life, 
the  council  of  twenty  judges  being  presided  over  by  Nero 


THE  APOSTLE  Iff  ROME.  S$9 

himself.  The  witnesses  who  were  to  testify  to  his  treason 
had  been  brought  from  the  East,  and  the  lawyers  of  the 
Jewish  Sanhedrim  were  on  hand  to  demand  the  condemna 
tion  of  the  prisoner.  But  the  hearts  of  all  men  are  in  the 
hands  of  Him  whom  Paul  served,  and  Nero  gave  the  prisoner 
his  life  and  liberty,  to  the  confusion  of  the  Jews  and  the  joy 
of  the  Apostle's  friends. 

Beyond  the  facts  we  have  in  the  New  Testament  Scriptures, 
there  is  little  to  be  received  implicitly  in  regard  to  the  life 
and  death  of  Peter  or  of  Paul.  Prudentius  states  that  they 
suffered  death  together  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber.  Others 
insist,  with  equal  confidence,  that  a  year  elapsed  after  the 
death  of  Peter  before  Paul  was  slain.  Eusebius,  Epiphanius, 
and  others,  say  that  both  men  were  put  to  death  on  the  2pth 
day  of  June.  As  I  am  quite  conscious  that  this  letter  is  far 
from  being  worthy  of  its  subject,  I  will  follow  it  with  a 
graphic  passage  from  Conybeare  and  Howson's  Life  of  Paul : 

THE  MARTYRDOM   OF  PAUL. 

As  the  martyr  and  his  executioners  passed  on  (from  the 
Ostian  gate),  their  way  was  crowded  with  a  motley  multitude 
of  goers  and  comers  between  the  metropolis  and  its  harbor 
— merchants  hastening  to  superintend  the  unlading  of  their 
cargoes,  sailors  eager  to  squander  the  profits  of  their  last 
voyage  in  the  dissipations  of  the  capital — officials  of  the 
government  charged  with  the  administration  of  the  prov 
inces,  or  the  command  of  the  legions  on  the  Euphrates  or 
the  Rhine ;  Chaldean  astrologers,  Phrygian  eunuchs,  danc 
ing  girls  from  Syria,  with  their  painted  turbans,  mendicant 
priests  from  Egypt,  howling  for  Osiris,  Greek  adventurers 
eager  to  coin  their  national  cunning  into  Roman  gold,  rep 
resentatives  of  the  avarice  and  ambition,  the  fraud  and  lust, 
the  superstition  and  intelligence  of  the  Imperial  world. 
Through  the  dust  and  tumult  of  that  busy  throng,  the  small 
troop  of  soldiers  threaded  their  way  silently,  under  the  bright 
sky  of  an  Italian  midsummer.  They  were  marching,  though 
they  knew  it  not,  in  a  procession  more  really  triumphant  than 


306  iRENsEUS  LZTT&KS. 

any  they  had  ever  followed  in  the  train  of  general  or  emperof 
along  the  Sacred  Way.  Their  prisoner,  now  at  last  and  for 
ever  delivered  from  captivity,  rejoiced  to  follow  his  Lord 
"  without  the  gate."  The  place  of  execution  was  not  far  dis 
tant,  and  there  the  sword  of  the  headsman  ended  his  long 
course  of  sufferings,  and  released  that  heroic  soul  from  that 
feeble  body.  Weeping  friends  took  up  his  corpse,  and  car 
ried  it  for  burial  to  those  subterranean  labyrinths  where, 
through  many  ages  of  oppression,  the  persecuted  Church 
found  refuge  for  the  living  and  sepulchres  for  the  dead. 

Thus  died  the  apostle,  the  prophet  and  the  martyr,  be 
queathing  to  the  Church,  in  her  government  and  her  discip 
line,  the  legacy  of  his  apostolic  labors  ;  leaving  his  prophetic 
words  to  be  her  living  oracles;  pouring  forth  his  blood  to 
be  the  seed  of  a  thousand  martyrdoms.  Thenceforth  among 
the  glorious  company  of  the  apostles,  among  the  goodly  fel 
lowship  of  the  prophets,  among  the  noble  army  of  martyrs, 
his  name  has  stood  pre-eminent.  And  wheresoever  the 
Holy  Church  throughout  all  the  world  doth  acknowledge 
God,  there  Paul  of  Tarsus  is  revered  as  the  great  teacher  of 
a  universal  redemption  and  a  catholic  religion — the  herald 
of  glad  tidings  to  all  mankind. 


AGATHA  AND  HER  DISH. 

I  hate  to  see  a  priest  when  I  go  to  a  convent  of  nuns.  But 
the  church  belonging  to  the  Convent  of  Saint  Agatha,  in 
Rome,  is  now  the  property  of  the  Irish  Seminary,  and  it  is 
quite  likely  that  the  directors  have  converted  the  convent  into 
a  boarding  school  for  young  ladies.  This  may  have  brought 
a  couple  of  ladies  to  the  convent  before  me,  and  I  recognized 
them  as  stopping  at  the  same  hotel,  and  now  in  animated  con 
versation  with  a  priestly  professor.  It  is  not  an  unusual  cir 
cumstance  for  Protestant  parents  in  England,  as  well  as 
America,  to  be  so  foolish  and  wicked  as  to  place  their  daugh 
ters  in  these  institutions.  The  end  thereof  is  that  the  daugh- 


AGATHA  AND  HER  DISH.  301 

ter  goes  into  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  perhaps  into  a  con 
vent.  She  is  never  to  her  parents  what  she  was  before. 

A  sleepy  old  janitor,  who  seemed  to  regard  his  duty  as  an 
intolerable  burden,  roused  himself  a  little  when  I  rang,  and 
gave  a  groan  of  assent  to  my  request  to  see  the  convent.  As 
usual,  the  sight  amounted  to  nothing  more  than  admission 
to  the  church  and  a  few  rooms  around  it. 

"  Daniel  O'Connell,"  were  the  words  conspicuous  in  the 
midst  of  an  epitaph  on  a  monument  which  stood  in  the  side- 
wall.  The  distinguished  Irish  Agitator  died  at  Genoa  on  his 
way  to  Rome,  bequeathing  his  heart  to  the  city  he  could  not 
reach.  It  was  brought  here  and  deposited  beneath  this 
monument :  which  represents  the  orator  in  the  British  House 
of  Commons  refusing  to  take  the  anti-Roman  Catholic  decla 
ration.  The  vanity  that  consumed  him  while  living  shines  in 
his  thought  that  his  heart  would  be  a  treasure  in  a  city  so 
full  of  great  men's  bones  and  names. 

Cardinal  Antonelli's  family  tomb  is  close  at  hand,  elegantly 
fitted  up  at  his  own  expense  not  long  before  his  death.  His 
palace  is  near  the  church. 

But  the  church  is  Saint  Agatha's,  and,  of  course,  we  are  to 
find  her,  or  her  remains,  or  her  statue,  something  to  identify 
her  with  the  house  over  which  she  is  supposed  to  preside. 
On  the  right  side  of  the  high  altar,  and  in  a  beautiful  chapel, 
stands  a  gilt  statue  of  the  lovely  saint,  as  large  as  life :  her 
breasts  exposed  in  full  view,  and  she  holds  extended  in  one 
hand  a  plate  on  which  two  balls,  to  represent  female  breasts, 
are  lying.  One  would  not  know  what  they  were  unless  famil 
iar  with  the  tragical  story  of  the  Sainted  Agatha.  I  give  it 
in  the  words  of  the  legends  of  the  Holy  Virgins  : 

"  Agatha  was  a  maiden  of  Catania,  in  Sicily,  whither  Decius 
sent  Quintianus  as  governor,  He,  inflamed  by  the  beauty  of 
Agatha,  tempted  her  with  rich  gifts  and  promises,  but  she 
repulsed  him  with  disdain.  Then  he  ordered  her  to  be 
bound  and  beaten  with  rods,  and  sent  two  of  his  slaves  to 
tear  her  bosom  with  iron  shears,  and,  as  her  blood  flowed 
forth,  she  said  to  him :  '  O  thou  cruel  tyrant !  art  thou  not 
ashamed  to  treat  me  thus  ?  Hast  thou  not  thyself  been  fed 


302  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

at  thy  mother's  breasts  ? '  Thus  only  did  she  murmur.  And 
in  the  night  a  venerable  man  came  to  her,  bearing  a  vase  of 
ointment,  and  before  him  walked  a  youth  bearing  a  torch. 
It  was  the  holy  Apostle  Peter,  and  the  youth  was  an  angel, 
but  Agatha  knew  it  not,  though  such  a  glorious  light  filled 
the  prison  that  the  guards  fled  in  terror.  Then  Peter  made 
himself  known  and  ministered  to  her,  restoring  with  heavenly 
balm  her  wounded  breasts.  Quintianus,  infuriated,  demanded 
who  had  healed  her?  She  replied:  '  He  whom  I  confess  and 
adore  with  heart  and  lips ;  he  hath  sent  his  apostle,  who 
has  healed  me.'  Then  Quintianus  caused  her  to  be  thrown 
upon  a  great  fire,  but  instantl  y  an  earthquake  arose,  and  the 
people,  in  terror,  cried, '  This  visitation  is  sent  because  of  the 
maiden  Agatha.'  So  he  caused  her  to  be  taken  from  the  fire 
and  carried  back  to  prison,  where  she  prayed  aloud  that  now, 
having  proved  her  faith,  she  might  be  freed  from  pain,  and 
see  the  glory  of  God !  And  her  prayer  was  answered,  and 
her  spirit  instantly  departed  into  glory." 

On  the  fifth  of  February  her  vespers  are  sung  in  this  church 
by  the  nuns,  and  the  words  of  the  anthem  are  exceedingly 
touching  and  beautiful,  as  they  celebrate  the  peculiar  nature 
of  her  sufferings,  her  wonderful  support  and  final  triumph. 
It  is  a  responsive  song  between  the  Apostle  and  the  virgin 
when  he  comes  to  her  prison  to  heal  her  wounds. 

In  another  church  I  have  seen  the  picture  of  Agatha  repre 
senting  her  with  her  breasts  actually  cut  off  and  lying  at  her 
feet,  while  the  streams  of  blood  are  flowing  from  the  ghastly 
wounds.  Here,  however,  she  holds  them  in  the  dish,  while  a 
new  pair  present  themselves  as  a  miraculous  restoration,  or 
rather  a  new  creation,  for  they  could  not  well  be  in  two  places 
at  the  same  time.  But  nothing  is  too  much  for  the  faith  of 
ignorance,  and  in  these  legends  the  absurdity  only  heightens 
the  interest  with  which  they  are  received.  Rome  has  a  litera 
ture  made  of  it.  The  highest  art  has  consecrated  it  with  the 
genius  that  renders  these  stories  immortal.  They  are  poetry. 
Not  true  in  fact,  but  telling  to  the  imagination  of  all,  and  to 
the  belief  of  many,  of  the  constancy  with  which  the  young  and 
lovely  maidens  endured  all  sufferings,  rather  than  bring  dis- 


AGATHA   AND  HER  DISH.  303 

honor  upon  the  name  of  Christ.  We  do  not  believe  the 
legends.  But  we  may  well  ask  ourselves  if  we  have  the 
martyr  spirit  in  the  hour  of  temptation  ?  -  Is  the  name  of  the 
Master  so  dear,  his  cause  and  honor  so  precious  that  we, 
strong  men,  or  brave  women,  would  take  joyfully  the  tortures 
which  delicate  maids  endured  rather  than  put  dishonor 
upon  the  Cross  of  Christ.  I  frankly  confess  that,  in  the 
midst  of  these  monuments  of  martyrdom,  I  often  fear  that 
with  the  age  of  persecution  has  also  gone  the  martyr  spirit. 
We  are  in  an  age  when  religion  costs  no  self-denial  that  tells. 
We  are  going  to  glory  on  "  flowery  beds  of  ease."  Yet  if  the 
time  does  come,  as  it  may,  when  the  Master  calls  for  witnesses 
to  the  truth,  I  doubt  not  that  the  piety  of  the  day  we  live  in 
would  yield  blood  as  freely  as  it  gives  money  now.  Our  songs 
boast  of  our  willingness  to  give  up  all  for  Him  who  for  us 
was  crucified ;  perhaps  we  would  take  up  the  cross  and  go 
with  it  to  our  Calvary  at  the  Master's  call. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  I  was  done  with  my  meditations  in 
front  of  this  strange  statue.  The  grouty  old  janitor  was  very 
impatient  to  shut  up.  He  led  me  through  long  passages 
where  large  boxes  of  plants  were  standing,  beauty  and  gloom 
strangely  blended  in  this  odd  assemblage.  Everything  in 
these  Romish  churches,  convents  and  colleges  is  strange  to 
us  outside.  They  have  attractions  for  the  sensuous  and 
superficial.  The  more  I  am  in  them  the  plainer  is  the  path 
from  a  form  of  Protestantism  that  worships  the  visible,  to 
the  Romanism  that  worships  nothing  else.  All  that  is  here 
addresses  the  senses.  It  is  materialism  in  marble  and  paint, 
and  incense  and  music.  It  once  had  an  elevation  of  soul 
that  rejoiced  in  the  almost  divine  imitations  by  Raphael  and 
Michael  Angel o.  Now  the  descendants  of  those  worshippers 
of  beauty  adore  a  tinselled  baby  in  the  same  church  where 
the  genius  of  the  old  masters  makes  the  very  air  luminous 
with  the  majesty  of  art.  Romanism,  in  its  second  childhood, 
finds  its  inspiration  in  the  sight  of  a  gilded  virgin  holding 
her  breasts  in  a  dish ! 


304  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


THE  SUNDAY  EVENING  SUPPER. 

"  Day  of  all  the  week  the  best, 
Emblem  of  eternal  rest." 

My  pleasantest  recollections  of  childhood  are  of  the  Sab 
bath.  Brought  up  in  the  strictest  school  of  family  religion, 
and  never  having  a  doubt  that  the  first  day  of  the  week  is 
the  Lord's  day,  it  has  always  been  to  me  for  a  wonder  that 
good  people  of  this  generation,  or  any  other,  should  regard 
the  Sabbath  as  a  day  of  gloom,  or  a  bore.  That  it  was  in  my 
father's  house  a  bright,  glad,  good  day,  is  my  recollection  of 
it,  and  it  should  be  the  present  experience  of  all  Christian 
households. 

I  remember  reading  years  ago  a  New  England  tale  by  Mrs. 
Stowe  or  her  sister,  in  which  the  way  of  keeping  the  Sab 
bath  in  her  father's  house  was  ridiculed  :  the  children  were 
described  as  sitting, up  straight  reading  their  Bibles,  afraid 
to  smile,  while  the  mirth  of  all  was  provoked  by  one  of  the 
youngsters  getting  hold  of  a  grasshopper  and  making  fun 
with  it.  To  them  the  day  was  a  weariness,  the  house  was  a 
prison,  and  religion  irksome.  My  experience  was  altogether 
of  another  sort.  We  did  indeed  obey  the  old  couplet — 

"  I  must  not  work,  I  must  not  play, 
Upon  God's  holy  Sabbath  day," 

— but  we  were  taught  and  shown  that  there  are  enjoyments 
for  children  so  much  better  than  mere  play,  that  we  did  not 
want  anything  more  entertaining  than  the  occupations  fur 
nished  for  us,  and  in  which  the  parents  shared. 

The  mornings  were  short,  and  the  duties  were  many,  before 
church.  We  had  breakfast  later  on  Sunday  morning  than  on 
any  other,  because  we  were  taught  that  physical  rest  was  one 
of  the  duties  of  the  day,  and  it  was  right,  and  perhaps  a  duty, 
to  lie  in  bed  later.  The  interval  between  breakfast  and 
church  was  employed  in  pleasant  reading  and  conversation, 
and  the  two  services  of  the  sanctuary,  with  the  Sabbath 


THE   SUNDA  Y  E  YEN  ING  SUPPER.  305 

school,  filled  up  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  The  services 
were  separated  by  a  short  intermission  only,  as  the  people 
were  chiefly  farmers,  many  of  them  coming  several  miles  to 
church,  and  it  was  important  for  them  to  get  home  in  time 
to  do  the  chores  before  nightfall.  This  arrangement  threw 
the  meals  out  of  their  usual  seasons.  We  had  to  do  as  others 
did ;  we  carried  lunch  to  church  and  ate  it  between  services; 
and  had  a  light  repast  on  coming  home  in  the  early  part  of 
the  afternoon.  This  being  over,  we  read  and  learned  the 
catechism  and  portions  of  Scripture,  and  hymns,  which 
lessons  now  remain  as  the  most  important  religious  treasures 
that  we  ever  earned. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  gathered,  and  the  candles  were 
lighted, — for  we  had  no  lamps,  and  gas  was  not  known, — we 
met  in  the  parlor,  and  there  was  what  may  well  be  called 
"  the  church  in  the  house."  The  father  of  the  family  was  the 
priest,  the  patriarch,  the  shepherd  of  the  flock.  We  repeated 
the  Catechism,  and  hymns,  and  conversed  with  our  parents 
on  "the  subject  of  religion."  Wonderful,  is  it  not?  But  we 
did,  and  thought  it  the  most  natural,  proper,  and  pleasant 
thing  in  the  world  to  do.  And  in  the  midst  of  it  the  father, 
with  a  majestic  bass  voice  that  could  easily  be  heard  half  a 
mile,  and  the  mother,  with  a  soft,  celestial  air, — that  now  falls 
on  my  ear  from  among  the  angels,  and  brings  tears  like  drops 
of  morning  dew  as  I  write, — and  all  the  children,  piping 
according  to  the  measure  of  song  to  each  one  given,  the 
whole  filling  the  house  with  music,  sang : 

"  My  God,  permit  my  tongue 
This  joy  to  call  Thee  mine, 
And  let  my  early  cries  prevail 
To  taste  Thy  love  divine. 

For  life  without  Thy  love 

No  relish  can  afford  ; 
No  joy  can  be  compared  with  this, 

To  serve  and  please  the  Lord." 

Each  one  of  us  was  conversed  with,  that  his  peculiar 
tendencies,  habits  and  wants  might  be  touched  with  the  hand 


306  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

of  parental  love ;  the  more  impulsive  checked,  the  weaker 
strengthened,  the  wayward  reclaimed,  and  all  fortified  with 
godly  counsel,  and  encouraged  with  Christian  hope.  There 
was  never  a  thought  in  that  circle  of  boys  and  girls  of  con 
finement,  of  restraint,  of  severity  or  fear.  We  knew  what  the 
Sabbath  was,  and  what  it  was  for,  and  we  enjoyed  it  as  we 
did  every  other  privilege  and  pleasure  in  its  time  and  place. 
And  when  we  had  gone  through  with  the  lessons  and  songs, 
and  the  holy  converse  of  that  twilight  hour,  the  Sunday 
Evening  Supper  came. 

In  those  days  it  was  the  habit  of  Christian  families — and 
the  same  good  habit  prevails  now — of  putting  as  little  labor 
as  possible  on  the  man-servant  and  the  maid-servant  and  the 
horses,  and  there  was  no  needless  cooking  done  in  the  house. 
But  Sunday  was  not  a  fast-day.  It  should  never  be.  It  is  a 
feast-day,  a  holyday,  a  holiday,  and  while  the  feasting  is  to 
be  done  more  on  spiritual  than  carnal  things,  it  is  also  true 
that  it  is  well  to  worship  God  on  that  day  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  best  gifts  of  his  Providence  and  his  Grace.  We  always 
had  a  good  supper  on  Sunday  night.  The  little  children  who 
were  wont  to  wait  until  the  second  table,  now  had  their  seats 
with  the  older  ones  at  the  first.  The  table  was  lengthened 
for  the  occasion.  Cheerfulness  gave  a  charm  to  the  feast. 
The  fare  was  very  simple,  for  six  hundred  dollars  a  year — and 
that  paid  partly  in  hay,  wood  and  potatoes — with  no  parson 
age  did  not  permit  a  family  of  ten  to  indulge  in  many  luxu 
ries.  But  away  back  into  the  first  quarter  of  this  century 
my  memory  goes,  and  is  greeted  with  the  fragrance  and  the 
flavor  of  that  homely  meal.  Since  those  times  I  have  supped 
with  Presidents  and  Prime  Ministers,  with  Poets,  Philoso 
phers  and  men  and  women  whose  names  the  world  will  not 
forget,  but  there  is  no  evening  entertainment  which  lives  in 
my  recollection,  a  well-spring  of  pleasure,  so  joyously  as  that 
Sunday  night  supper  in  my  father's  house.  It  lacked  no 
element  of  enjoyment.  There  was  no  levity,  but  there  was 
something  better,  intelligent  cheerfulness ;  the  incidents  of 
the  day,  the  curiosities  of  rural  Christian  life,  the  parish 
gossip,  always  exchanged  at  church  on  Sunday,  and  over 


THE   SUNDAY  EVENING  SUPPER.  307 

which  we  chatted  with  good  humor  at  night ;  there  was  the 
boundless  store  of  religious  anecdote  that  my  father — a 
finished  scholar  and  a  man  of  the  world  also — possessed,  with 
which  he  loved  to  entertain  his  company,  and  his  children 
most  of  all. 

Thus  the  Sabbath  was  a  delight.  We  grew  up  with  the 
idea  as  part  of  our  mental  experience,  not  to  be  questioned, 
but  accepted  as  the  pleasantest  truth  in  the  history  of  a  week, 
that  Sunday  was  the  glad  rest  day  from  study  and  labor, 
when  something  higher  and  sweeter  than  daily  toil  or  sports, 
was  to  be  ours.  As  we  were  commanded  to  work  six  days, 
so  we  were  permitted  to  rest  one  day,  and  spend  the  whole 
time  in  such  pleasures  as  the  spiritual  part  of  our  natures 
craved.  And  when  a  day  had  thus  been  spent,  there  are  no 
words  that  more  aptly  expressed  the  genuine  emotions  of 
child-life  than  these : 

"  My  willing  soul  would  stay 
In  such  a  frame  as  this ; 
And  sit  and  sing  herself  away 
To  everlasting  bliss." 

Do  you  ask  me  what  was  the  effect  of  such  training  in 
after  life  ?  Well,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  much  about  that. 
But  if  any  one  of  the  large  household  had  grown  up  with  an 
aversion  to  the  Lord's  day,  and  breaking  away  from  the 
restraints  of  religious  instruction,  had  become  an  unbeliever 
or  a  prodigal,  I  could  not  have  written  these  lines.  But  now, 
when  the  youngest  of  them  has  gray  hairs,  and  part  of  the 
group  has  crossed  the  flood,  it  is  joy  to  feel  sure  that  all, 
parents  and  children,  will  sit  down  together  at  the  Sunday 
Evening  Supper  where  Sabbaths  have  no  end. 


308  IRMNEUS  LETTERS. 


MISERIES  OF  BEING  REPORTED   IN  THE  NEWS 
PAPERS. 

Thirty  and  forty  years  ago  there  was  more  verbatim  report 
ing  done  in  the  newspapers,  than  is  done  now.  So  many  mat 
ters  crowd  upon  the  press  and  the  people,  that  there  is  little 
room  for  long  speeches,  and  no  time  to  read  them.  Some  men 
won  wide  repute  as  reporters  many  years  ago.  Mr.  Gales,  of 
the  National  Intelligencer,  was  a  distinguished  reporter,  and  a 
very  prominent  public  man.  Arthur  J.  Stansbury  made  a 
name  and  money  by  his  perfect  reports  of  speeches  in  Congress. 
He  reported,  for  the  N.  Y.  Observer,  the  great  ecclesiastical 
trial,  for  heresy,  of  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher.  Henry  J.  Raymond, 
founder  of  the  N.  Y.  Times,  was  an  admirable  reporter.  He 
frequently  reported  public  meetings  for  the  Observer ;  he  was 
the  hardest  worker  on  the  press  whom  I  ever  knew.  Neither 
Raymond  nor  Stansbury  used  shorthand.  They  wrote  the 
principal  words  of  the  speaker,  and  filled  up  the  sentences 
afterwards.  Some  reporters  drop  all  vowels  and  silent  letters, 
and  easily  add  them  in  writing  out.  They  make  sad  blunders 
sometimes :  Dr.  Bethune  said  "  the  devil  sowed  tares :"  the 
reporter  made  him  say  "  sawed  trees  :"  using  the  right  con 
sonants  but  adding  the  wrong  vowels.  No  speaker  suffers  so 
many  things  at  the  hands  of  reporters  as  ministers.  The 
reporter  is  usually  one  who  is  unfamiliar  with  "  the  language  of 
Canaan,"  and  a  man  who  could  give  a  political  speech  with 
accuracy,  is  all  astray  on  a  sermon.  He  does  not  understand 
the  subject,  and  makes  of  his  pothooks  nonsense,  when  he 
writes  out  his  notes.  He  was  a  very  able  reporter  who  was 
coming  down  Broadway,  and  seeing  a  large  sign,  "  Panorama 
of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  turned  in  to  see  it,  but  was 
refused  admission.  He  said,  "  I'm  a  member  of  the  press,  a 
reporter  on  the  Daily ."  Being  told  that  he  was  a  stran 
ger  and  could  not  be  admitted  ;  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  let  me  see 
Mr.  BUNYAN,  he'll  let  me  in."  This  young  man  knew  every 
politician  in  the  country,  by  name,  but  had  never  heard  of 


MISERIES  OF  BEING  REPORTED.  3°9 

old  John  Bunyan,  and  supposed  him  to  be  the  proprietor  of 
the  Panorama. 

There  is  also,  at  the  present  day,  a  propensity  to  fun,  wag 
gery,  amusement,  that  has  sadly  interfered  with  accurate 
reporting.  My  own  sufferings  in  this  way  have  prompted 
this  writing.  I  gave  a  lecture  on  the  East  last  winter :  and 
the  papers  reported  me  as  saying  that,  while  I  was  in  Con 
stantinople,  the  Sultan  invited  me  to  visit  his  harem,  and 
that  I  did  so.  Some  wag  did  the  incident  into  rhyme.  The 
papers  copied  it,  and  now  I  get  copies  from  distant  parts 
of  the  country,  sent  to  me  by  astonished  friends,  who  want 
to  know  if  it  be  true?  I  did  not  mention  the  word  Con 
stantinople,  sultan,  harem,  or  anything  of  the  kind.  I 
said,  when  in  Egypt,  the  Chamberlain  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Khedive  gave  me  an  entertainment  in  the  banquet  hall. 
Out  of  that  the  reporter  made  the  story  of  the  Sultan  and 
the  harem. 

Much  worse  was  my  experience  in  speaking  of  "wit  in  the 
pulpit :"  the  reporter  put  into  my  mouth  a  tissue  of  words 
that  had  no  sort  of  relation  to  what  I  said  :  words  that  mis 
represented  the  purpose  and  sentiment  of  my  discourse  :  and 
now  I  am  getting  letters  filled  with  abuse ;  one  calls  me  a 
"  liar  "  and  a  "  mass  of  stupidity,"  and  destitute  of  "  brains 
and  religion  too ,"  and  all  this  because  a  well-meaning  but 
incompetent  reporter  made  me  say  what  I  never  thought  of 
saying,  and  would  not  have  said  if  I  had  thought  of  it. 

Monday  morning  we  have  a  fearful  deluge  of  reported 
sermons.  Some  of  them  are  made  without  even  hearing  the 
discourse.  A  reporter  takes  two  or  three  churches,  and  flies 
from  one  to  another :  gets  part  of  one  and  another  sermon  : 
asks  what  was  the  text :  writes  out  what  he  can  glean  :  draws 
on  his  fancy  for  the  most  of  it,  and  that  is  the  report !  Some 
pastors  in  this  city  have  told  me  that  sermons  have  been 
attributed  to  them  of  which  they  never  said  one  word ! 
Others  have  had  the  first  part  of  their  discourse  reported, 
and  the  conclusion  invented. 

But  this  is  not  the  worst.  A  periodical  is  now  issued,  pro 
fessing  to  give  the  sermons  of  the  day :  these  reports  in  the 


310  IRE  N^  US  LETTERS. 

newspapers,  thus  manufactured,  are  reprinted  as  the  actual 
discourses  of  the  living  preachers.  I  have  known  these  reports 
to  be  sent  to  the  preacher  for  his  correction ;  and,  on  his 
declining  to  perform  the  impossible  task,  the  horrible  jumble 
of  unmitigated  nonsense  was  embalmed  in  the  periodical  and 
sent  out  to  the  world.  This  is  a  fraud  on  the  religious  pub 
lic,  deserving  exposure  and  punishment.  Only  last  week  I 
received  a  newspaper  from  a  distant  city,  containing  a  sharp 
criticism  of  a  sentiment  imputed  to  Rev.  Dr.  Duryea  :  it  had 
been  in  one  of  these  reports ;  but  any  thoughtful  writer  would 
hesitate  before  he  condemned  a  man  for  error  on  the  tes 
timony  of  a  newspaper  sketch  of  his  sermon.  No  public 
speaking  requires  greater  precision  of  statement  than  that  of 
religious  doctrine.  Yet  any  youth,  of  either  sex,  feels  quite 
competent  to  give  an  outline  of  the  profoundest  sermon. 
There  are  some  religious  speeches  easily  enough  reported, 
thin,  diffuse,  repetitious,  hortatory  :  years  ago  I  was  report 
ing  a  public  meeting  in  Boston :  a  distinguished  divine  was 
on  the  platform,  speaking ;  but  he  was  so  slow  with  his  ideas, 
and  fluent  of  words,  that  I  could  easily  write  out  in  full  all 
that  he  said  worth  reading.  A  man  at  my  elbow  suddenly 
whispered  to  me, — 

"  Why,  he  didn't  say  that !" 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  but  he  will  in  a  moment,"  and,  sure  enough, 
he  did. 

The  wretched  reports  of  lectures,  sermons,  etc.,  that  we 
have,  is  not  the  fault  of  the  reporters  always  or  chiefly.  They 
rush  from  the  place  of  meeting  to  the  office  and,  writing  out 
their  report,  deliver  it  to  the  managing  editor,  perhaps  at 
midnight :  he  cuts  it  up  and  down  :  slashes  out  what  little 
sense  and  connection  it  had,  and  serves  the  miserable 
remainder  to  the  public,  to  the  infinite  disgust  of  the  speaker 
and  with  no  sort  of  edification  of  the  reader.  I  personally 
know  able  and  learned  men  who  will  not  look  at  the  reports 
of  their  own  speeches,  so  mortifying  is  the  picture  made  of 
them.  Some  men  will  not  speak  when  they  are  exposed  to 
this  fearful  penalty.  And  very  few  men  now  think  it  worth 
while  to  follow  up  an  incorrect  report  with  any  attempt  to 


THE  FIFE  AND    THE    VIOLIN.  311 

get  the  wrong  righted.  Let  it  go,  they  say,  it  will  be  sooner 
forgotten  if  let  alone. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  a  satisfactory  condensed  report  of  a 
sermon  or  lecture.  A  speaker  may  do  the  work  himself,  but 
any  one  else  will  omit  what  ought  to  be  said,  and  say  the 
thing  that  might  be  left  unsaid.  And  that  is  the  reason  why 
sketches  of  sermons  are  so  imperfect  and  often  positively 
bad.  They  do  not  give  the  pith  and  gist  of  the  preacher's 
work.  They  bestow  more  abundant  honor  on  the  parts  that 
lack.  They  are  a  failure. 

You  must  not  believe  all  you  read  in  the  newspapers,  for, 
with  the  best  intentions  and  the  greatest  painstaking,  mistakes 
will  happen.  Especially  is  this  true  with  regard  to  reports 
of  public  speakers.  You  may  be  entertained,  and  perhaps 
instructed  by  the  report,  but  the  sermon  may  never  have  been 
heard  in  a  pulpit,  and  the  unhappy  preacher  would  not  know 
it  was  supposed  to  be  his,  if  it  were  not  attributed  to  him  in 
print. 


THE  FIFE  AND  THE  VIOLIN. 

"The  First  Child  of  Rutgers  Church,"  in  this  city,  was  the 
head-line  of  a  letter  in  the  Observer  a  few  weeks  ago.  The 
writer,  whose  name  was  printed  as  Pennington,  now  writes 
again  and  says : 

"  I  wrote  my  name  so  carelessly  that  a  very  slight  error 
would  make  the  change.  It  should  have  been  Remington, 
and  I  should  have  told  you  that  my  husband  was  the  Rev. 
David  Remington,  of  Rye,  N.  Y.,  whom  you  may  remember." 

Remember  him  ?  Indeed  I  do,  with  some  sweetly  solemn, 
and  some  amusing  associations.  He  was  the  palest  man  I 
ever  saw  alive.  Some  failure  in  the  circulation  or  nature  of 
the  blood  (and  I  think  that  he  died  suddenly  of  an  affection 
of  the  heart)  had  caused  all  the  hue  of  health  to  fade  away 
from  his  face,  and  the  pallor,  not  of  death,  but  of  the  absence 
of  health,  was  upon  him  when  I  first  met  him. 


312  2REN&US  LETTERS. 

The  circumstances  were  these :  I  went  to  a  meeting  of 
Presbytery  to  be  examined  and  taken  under  its  care  as  a  stu 
dent  for  the  ministry.  Another  young  man  presented  him 
self  at  the  same  time.  Our  examination  was  referred  to  a 
committee  of  two  members,  Mr.  R.  was  one,  who  retired 
with  us  to  a  private  house, — it  was  in  the  country — and  there 
heard  from  us  a  statement  of  our  religious  experience  and 
views  in  seeking  the  ministry.  I  was  first  examined ;  and 
the  other  candidate  being  called  on,  gave  the  reason  that  had 
satisfied  him  of  his  duty  to  become  a  minister  of  the  Word. 
It  was  mainly  this  :  and  as  he  was  just  from  the  farm,  with 
no  early  education,  it  was  given  in  very  rude  speech,  but  with 
great  sincerity  and  freedom.  He  said  that  he  had  long  been 
fond  of  fifing;  he  fifed  the  first  thing  when  he  got  up,  and 
fifed  at  noon,  when  resting  from  work,  and  fifed  until  he 
went  to  bed  :  he  would  often  go  without  his  meals  to  have 
more  time  for  fifing:  but  when  he  got  religion  he  gave  up 
fifing,  and  now  he  could  go  all  day  without  fifing  at  all. 
This  passion,  subdued  by  religion,  he  dwelt  on  in  a  manner 
to  me  so  absurd  that  with  difficulty  I  remained  becomingly 
sober.  But  the  unruffled  composure  and  solemn  demeanor 
of  Mr.  Remington  rebuked  my  "inwardness."  As  I  never 
had  such  experience  as  my  young  friend,  I  could  not  com 
prehend  the  apparent  approval  of  it  by  Mr.  Remington  as 
genuine  evidence  of  piety,  and  was  ready  to  believe  that  I 
had  made  a  mistake.  We  came  out  of  the  house  to  return  to 
the  Church.  I  walked  along  the  country  road  by  the  side  of 
Mr.  R.,  and  beginning  very  gently,  so  as  not  to  get  too  deep 
into  the  matter  if  he  were  not  in  sympathy,  I  said,  "  Our 
young  friend  seems  to  have  had  a  strong  passion  for  fifing !" 
The  pent-up  humor  of  the  dear  good  man  burst  into  a  merry 
explosion,  very  comforting  to  me :  he  left  the  road  and  took 
to  the  crooked  rail  fence,  on  which  he  leaned,  while  for  a 
few  minutes,  he  indulged  in  the  free  expression  of  the  enjoy 
ment  which  this  singular  but  sincere  experience  had  afforded. 
Recovering  himself,  we  resumed  our  walk,  while  with  rich, 
mellow  and  scriptural  wisdom,  he  discoursed  to  me  of  the 
folly  of  mistaking  innocent  recreations  for  sinful  pleasures. 


THE  FIFE  AND   THE    V  10 LIN.  313 

The  young  man  went  back  in  less  than  a  year  to  the  farm, 
and  I  hope  that  he  enjoyed  his  fife  to  the  end  of  his  days, 
which  were  not  very  long  in  the  land. 

A  few  years  afterward,  I  had  the  acquaintance  of  a  Spanish 
gentleman  of  culture,  who,  to  many  other  accomplishments, 
added  that  of  being  a  master  on  the  violin.  He  was  a 
Romanist  in  his  religion,  but  being  attracted  by  curiosity,  he 
attended  a  Protestant  revival  meeting,  became  deeply  inter 
ested  and  was  soon  converted.  After  a  few  weeks  or  months 
of  great  religious  enjoyment,  he  became  despondent  and 
fearful  that  his  new  experience  was  delusive.  In  his  despair 
he  sought  counsel  of  a  judicious  divine,  to  whom  he  related 
the  honest  attempts  he  had  made  to  do  his  whole  duty  as  a 
Christian,  how  he  had  denied  himself  those  things  in  which 
he  once  took  great  delight,  even  his  violin  he  had  laid  aside 
entirely,  not  having  once  had  it  in  his  hand  since  he  had  re 
nounced  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil. 

The  wise  minister  said  to  him:  "Your  idea  of  a  religious 
life  is  derived  from  your  old  Roman  Church,  where,  by  mor 
tifying  even  innocent  desires,  you  hoped  to  atone  for  sin  and 
make  yourself  holy.  There  is  no  sin  in  the  enjoyment  of 
your  violin.  There  is  no  merit  in  laying  it  aside.  As  the 
man  after  God's  own  heart  praised  Him  on  an  instrument 
of  ten  strings,  so  do  you  go  away  and  play  before  Him  on  a 
fiddle  with  four.  Whether  you  eat,  or  drink,  or  whatever 
you  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of  God.  Rejoice  in  the  Lord 
always,  and  again  I  say  rejoice." 

The  soul  of  the  new  convert  was  comforted  by  these  words. 
The  veil  was  lifted  from  his  heart.  He  resumed  his  favorite 
recreation.  He  grew  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of  God. 
He  walked  before  Him  joyfully,  a  delightful  Christian, 
useful  and  beloved  in  the  church. 

You  have  recently  asked  me  to  tell  you  if  this  amusement, 
or  that,  or  the  other,  is  suitable  for  a  young  Christian.  And 
you  are  surprised  that  I  do  not  give  you  an  answer.  I  can 
not  prescribe  for  you,  without  a  divine  prescription  to  me. 
And  as  you  have  access  to  the  same  rule  of  practice  which  I 
would  consult,  it  is  not  needful  that  I  should  write  more 


314  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

definitely.  It  is  well  to  bear  this  in  mind,  that  to  be 
spiritually-minded  is  life.  I  would  not  play  on  a  fife  or  a 
fiddle,  if  it  made  me  less  disposed  to  sing  and  pray  and  pant 
after  the  living  God.  I  would  not  go  to  a  ball,  or  a  play,  or 
a  party  where  the  amusements  or  the  company,  or  the  hours, 
or  the  surroundings  dissipated  my  religious  thoughts  and 
filled  me  with  the  love  of  folly,  frivolity,  worldliness,  and 
something  worse  than  any  of  these.  I  would  not  go  to  any 
place  out  of  the  Week  of  Prayer,  that  I  would  be  afraid  to 
attend  in  the  midst  of  it.  Ditto  of  Lent.  The  innocent 
amusements  of  life  are  favorable  to  true  Christian  culture 
and  growth  in  the  divine  life.  Whatever  hinders  religious 
progress  is  of  the  devil,  and  is  to  be  shunned  as  the  plague. 

It  is  on  this  principle  that  the  true  Church  sets  its  face 
against  those  entertainments  which  corrupt  the  tastes, 
deprave  and  pervert  the  passions,  excite  impure  imaginations 
and  desires,  and  are  wholly  incompatible  with  holy  living. 
The  nearer  the  Church  comes  to  conformity  with  the  world, 
the  more  popular  of  course  she  becomes,  and  the  less  is  the 
spiritual  power  she  exerts  upon  the  world. 

Use  the  world  as  not  abusing  it.  Religion  heightens  every 
lawful  pleasure,  and  destroys  the  taste  for  any  other.  A 
merry  heart  doeth  good  like  a  medicine.  Music  hath 
charms.  And  my  young  friend  made  a  mistake  when  he 
ceased  to  fife ;  as  the  Spanish  gentleman  did  also,  when  he 
sacrificed  his  violin.  With  such  sacrifice  God  is  not  pleased. 


MY  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  NIAGARA. 

It  was  just  before  sunset,  of  a  rainy  day.  In  the  west, 
huge  masses  of  cloud  were  piled  like  mountains,  and  the 
sinking  sun  bursting  from  among  them,  covered  them  with 
lustrous  glory,  such  as  the  full  hand  of  God  only  can  fling  on 
the  canvas  of  the  sky. 

"  O,  look  at  the  sky,"  said  one  of  our  party,  as  we  emerged 
from  the  woods  and  approached  the  verge  of  the  precipice. 


.17 r  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  NIAGARA.  31$ 

"  O,  look  at  the  Falls,"  said  I,  and  there  they  stood,  that 
western  sky  with  its  chariots  of  fire,  its  glowing  sun,  its 
hanging  thunder  clouds,  reflected  on  the  descending  torrent 
sheet,  which  looked  like  many  mighty  pillars,  of  colors  vari 
ous  as  the  rainbow  shows,  each  pillar  perfect  in  its  shape 
and  hue,  and  ranged  in  order,  a  fitting  front  for  heaven! 
Sure  never  out  of  heaven  was  such  a  sight ;  and  never  until 
I  see  the  "  rainbow  round  about  the  throne,"  will  these  eyes 
look  upon  the  like  again.  All  that  my  soul  ever  thirsted  after 
of  magnificence  and  loveliness  blended  in  rarest  harmony,  was 
so  far  transcended  in  that  scene  of  majesty  beauty,  that  I 
could  have  wept  in  silence,  and  returned  home  satisfied,  had 
that  been  my  last,  as  it  was  my  first  sight  of  the  Falls  of 
Niagara. 

So  sensible  were  we  that  the  vision  just  now  floating 
before  us,  was  what  no  pen  had  ever  attempted  to  portray, 
and  so  absorbed  had  each  of  us  been  in  its  wondrous  charms, 
that  we  cautiously  gave  utterance  to  our  emotions,  till  we 
found  that  it  was  no  enchantment,  but  a  scene  that  each  eye 
had  seen,  and  on  each  soul  had  been  engraved,  to  be  remem 
bered  among  the  brightest  and  fairest  of  earth's  pictures  of 
loveliness  and  glory. 

But  "  glory  built  on  tears"  soon  perishes.  The  sun  went 
down  behind  the  heavy  clouds,  wrapping  his  golden  drapery 
around  him  ;  the  gorgeous  tints,  that  gave  such  magic  beauty 
to  the  waters,  faded ;  and  we  were  standing  in  breathless 
stillness  fixed,  contemplating  the  solemn  grandeur  of  this 
great  psalm  of  nature.  Now  the  sober  feeling  of  a  felt  real 
ity  began  to  creep  slowly  over  me,  and  as  we  moved  from 
point  to  point  to  observe  the  varied  features  of  the  view,  the 
shades  of  evening  were  around  us,  and  a  starless  night  and 
no  guide  soon  convinced  us  that  we  were  lost  in  the  woods 
of  the  island,  on  each  side  of  which  the  river  leaps  into  the 
terrible  abyss.  Taking  the  island  shore  as  our  only  guide, 
we  travelled  around,  and  finally  reached  the  bridge  over 
which  we  had  to  cross  to  our  lodgings. 

We  had  seen  the  Falls ;  and  well  wearied  with  our  walk 
and  well  paid  for  our  toil,  we  thanked  God  for  bringing  us 


3 1 6  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

safely  here,  for  revealing  so  much  of  Himself  to  us  in  his 
mighty  works,  and  begging  that  we  might  ever  love  and 
adore  Him  more  for  what  we  had  just  now  seen,  we  lay  down 
in  His  arms,  and  were  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  cataract's  never- 
ceasing  roar. 

Refreshed  by  rest,  we  rose  the  next  morning,  and  to  our 
joy  the  sun  was  rising  in  unclouded  glory.  It  was  but  a  few 
minutes  before  I  was  again  in  the  midst  of  the  scene ;  but 
now,  how  changed.  It  was  new,  almost  as  if  I  had  seen 
nothing  of  it  before.  The  bright  light  of  heaven  streaming 
across  the  brow  of  the  Falls,  twining  its  front  with  rainbows, 
and  strewing  it  with  diamonds  that  flashed  continually  be 
fore  me,  gave  new  beauty  to  the  view.  Still,  the  deep  feel 
ing  of  sublimity  and  awe  had  not  yet  possessed  me,  nor  did 
it,  till,  a  few  hours  after,  we  were  rowed  out  into  the  stream 
below  the  cataract,  and  there,  in  view  of  every  descending 
drop  of  that  vast  torrent,  we  looked  up  silent  and  solemn, 
feeling  (as  we  had  never  felt  before)  our  own  littleness  in 
the  presence  of  the  omnipotent  and  everlasting  God  ! 

This  was  the  scene  that  I  had  brought  in  my  soul  with  me. 
It  had  been  there  for  years,  and  whenever  I  had  thought  of 
the  Falls  of  Niagara,  it  was  from  this  shell  of  a  boat  tottling 
among  the  foam  and  breakers  at  the  base.  It  is  enough, 
said  I  to  my  swelling  heart ;  O  what  a  God  Thou  art,  from 
the  hollow  of  whose  hand,  these  mighty  torrents  flow. 
These  are  Thy  works ;  Thine  eye  hath  counted  every  drop 
that  ever  fell  from  those  heights,  and  Thine  ear  hath  listened 
to  the  music  of  these  Falls  since  they  began  their  solemn 
hymn.  It  is  a  fitting  sight  for  Thine  eye,  and  this  roar 
might  well  be  the  organ-bass  to  the  song  of  the  morning 
stars. 

To  others  it  may,  but  to  one  who  with  devout  heart  has 
ever  knelt  while  in  the  midst  of  the  stream  and  looked  up 
into  the  broad  face  of  these  torrents,  it  will  not  be  strange 
that  the  mind  should  rise  with  these  clouds  of  spray,  like 
incense,  to  the  throne  of  God  :  and  that  thoughts  of  worship 
and  praise  should  possess  the  whole  soul.  In  this  spirit  it 
was,  that  Coleridge's  Hymn  before  sunrise  in  the  Vale  of 


MY  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  NIAGARA.  317 

Chamouni  came  to  me,  and  I  thought  how  more  sublimely 
beautiful  and  eloquent  the  scene  before  him  would  have 
been,  had  he  in  the  sunlight  looked  on  these  live  torrents, 
leaping  and  dashing  amid  clouds  and  rainbows  and  thun 
ders  ;  and  breaking  around  him  as  if  mad  in  their  mighty 
overthrow  and  fatal  plunge.  He  looked  up  toward  Mont 
Blanc,  where  the  torrents  had  frozen  as  they  flowed  "  from 
dark  and  icy  caverns," 

"  Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 
Forever  shattered  and  the  same  forever," 

and  as  his  soul  was  filled  with  the  majestic  grandeur  even  of 
that  scene,  he  cries — 

"  Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 
Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury  and  your  joy, 
Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam  ? 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven, 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?    Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?    Who  with  living  flowers 
Of  loveliest  hue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ? 
God  !     Let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer  !    And  let  the  ice  plains  echo  GOD  1" 

So  did  the  praise  of  God  go  up  from  these  torrents,  and  it 
was  good  to  let  the  heart  flow  with  the  rushing  currents, 
and,  borne  along  by  its  own  impulses,  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
boundless  ocean  of  infinity.  Looking  up  again  from  the 
cataract  to  Him  whose  presence  I  felt  and  whose  voice  I 
heard,  I  could  say  to  Him — 

"  Yes  !  as  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sea, 

All  this  magnificence  in  thee  is  lost ; 
What  are  ten  thousand  worlds  compared  to  thee? 

And  what  am  I,  then?  Heaven's  unnumber'd  host, 
Though  multiplied  by  myriads,  and  arrayed 

In  all  the  glory  of  sublimest  thought, 
Is  but  an  atom  in  the  balance  weighed 

Against  thy  greatness — is  a  cipher  brought 

Against  infinity!    What  am  I  then  ?    Naught  1" 


318  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  object  in  this  sketch  to  give  a  descrip 
tion  of  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  This  is  to  be  had  for  a  shilling 
anywhere ;  but  it  may  be  well  enough  to  say  that  the  first 
views  I  obtained  were  of  the  American  Fall  from  Iris  (form 
erly  called,  Goat)  Island.  And  now  we  pass  over  in  the  boat 
to  the  Canada  side,  where  the  view  is  more  complete  than  is 
to  be  obtained  elsewhere  except  by  those  who  prefer  with  me 
to  play  in  the  boiling  gulph  below,  and  look  up.  The  over 
powering  was  more  real,  as  I  floated  beneath  the  cataract  than 
from  any  other  point  of  observation,  and  I  think  I  "left  few 
of  them  untried.  But  the  view  from  Table  Rock  leaves 
nothing  to  be  desired.  There  the  panorama  is  entire.  The 
circuit  of  the  Horse  Shoe,  the  central,  like  a  white  ribbon 
streaming  in  the  air,  the  stately  American,  less  picturesque 
but  more  graceful  than  any  other,  all  pour  before  you,  and 
words  were  never  made  by  which  to  tell  the  power  of  this 
majestic  scene.  Talk  of  disappointment  with  the  Falls ! 
The  man  must  have  had  a  fancy  wilder  than  the  winds  that 
roar  under  this  cataract,  who  ever  pictured  to  himself  mag 
nificence  in  nature  more  grand  and  beautiful  than  now  lives 
and  leaps  before  him,  like  a  new  world  springing  from  its 
Maker,  and  rolling  in  the  liquid  light  and  gladness  of  a  new 
existence.  "  Is  it  not  strange,"  said  one  of  our  party  to  me, 
"  that  you  could  have  lived  in  this  world  so  many  years,  and 
never  have  seen  this  before?"  I  made  no  reply,  but  felt 
rebuked.  I  did  not  know,  however,  that  there  was  such  a 
world,  or  I  would  have  come  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  to 
gaze  upon  it. 

Now  stretch  yourself  out  on  the  flat  rock  that  projects  over 
the  abyss,  and  close  by  the  side  of  the  rushing  waters,  look 
over  the  brink.  The  sun  lights  the  small  globes  of  water, 
myriads  of  which  separate  like  so  many  jewels  poured  from 
celestial  caskets,  and  you  follow  them  coursing  each  other, 
down,  down,  down,  until  they  and  you  are  lost  in  the  foam 
ing  gulph.  You  are  now,  if  the  wind  is  fair,  behind  the 
spray  ;  and  the  sense  of  height  and  depth  is  appalling.  Yet 
the  longer  you  look,  the  more  infatuated  you  are  with  the 
scene,  and  the  less  disposed  to  draw  back  from  the  precipice. 


MY  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  NIAGARA.  319 

(It  is  ever  thus !)  Timid  ladies,  who  screamed  with  terror 
when  I  crept  to  the  edge,  and  prayed  me  to  come  back,  were 
soon  cautiously  approaching,  now  side  by  side  with  me  look 
ing  over,  and  now  so  fearless  that  it  took  a  strong  arm  and  a 
stern  voice  to  break  them  away  from  the  awful  edge.  A 
single  flaw  in  the  rock,  from  which  many  a  portion  has  been 
rent  in  years  past,  a  single  flaw  in  that  rock,  and * 

There  are  other  points  from  which  to  view  the  Falls,  and 
there  are  other  features  on  which  I  would  dwell,  had  I  not 
been  sensible  ever  since  I  began  this  letter,  that  every  attempt 
to  transfer  my  own  impressions  to  the  paper,  has  lamentably 
failed.  Often  while  wandering  from  cliff  to  cliff,  some  new 
feature  of  peculiar  beauty  or  grandeur  would  break  upon  me 
and  fix  my  eye,  and  sitting  down  on  a  stone,  with  pencil  in 
hand,  I  would  try  to  find  words  to  fasten  the  sensation  in 
my  note-book,  with  certainly  a  benevolent  desire,  that  others 
less  favored,  might  hear  of  what  appeared  to  me  so  lovely  or 
so  great.  Thus,  while  we  were  on  Prospect  Tower,  two  lit 
tle  birds  flew  fearlessly  into  the  spray  in  front  of  the  fall,  and 
sporting  in  the  watery  vapor  were  lost  from  the  sight ;  and  I 
tried  to  get  upon  paper  the  thought  that  was  suggested 
of  the  soul  that  fearlessly  and  confidingly  wings  its  way  into 
the  dread  abyss  of  eternity,  and  when  the  elements  melt  and 
the  wild  roar  of  a  wrecked  world  fills  the  universe  with  fear, 
stretches  its  flight  right  onward  into  the  bosom  of  God. 

A  day  was  thus  spent ;  then  the  Sabbath  came ;  and  we 
worshipped  in  the  great  temple  not  made  with  hands.  Its 
light  was  the  sun,  its  music  the  majestic  water-fall,  its  in 
cense  the  gratitude  and  joy  of  subdued  hearts,  its  eloquence 
a  "thousand  voices,"  "the  noise  of  many  waters,"  praising 
God.  This  was  the  morning  service  offered  with  the  rising 
sun,  while  a  rainbow,  a  perfect  arch,  the  most  lustrous  we  had 
seen,  was  resting  upon  the  deep — an  emblem  of  God's  prom 
ise  and  our  hope. 

In  the  evening,  we  selected  a  retired  spot,  in  full  view  of 
the  Horse  Shoe  Fall,  and  spent  a  peaceful  hour  in  singing 

*  It  fell  a  few  years  afterwards. 


320  1REXJZUS  LETTERS. 

hyms  of  praise ;  sweet  to  hear,  though  we  were  so  near  to  the 
waters  that  our  party  were  obliged  to  cluster  closely,  or  we 
were  beyond  the  reach  of  each  other's  voices.  How  full  of 
beauty  was  the  "  Star  of  Bethlehem,"  with  the  chorus  of  this 
roaring  fall — 

"  Once  on  a  raging  sea  I  rode, 

The  storm  was  loud,  the  night  was  dark, 
The  ocean  yawned,  and  rudely  blowed 
The  winds  that  tossed  my  foundering  bark." 

And  then  the  soul  responded,  with  joyful  emotions,  to  that 
other  hymn, 

"  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood, 
Stand  dressed  hi  living  green,"  etc. 

Another  day  was  spent  in  revisiting  points  which  we  had 
learned  to  love,  and  in  discovering  new  features  of  interest  in 
scenes  with  which  we  had  supposed  ourselves  familiar.  We 
could  not  be  satisfied,  and  the  thought  of  leaving  was  pain 
ful.  It  was  good  to  be  here.  The  presence  of  God  we  felt, 
his  power  we  saw,  his  glory  shone  around  us  ever,  and  we 
thought  it  well  to  linger  in  the  midst  of  such  emotions,  and 
let  them  work  deeply  and  indelibly  into  the  soul.  I  trust 
they  did.  Certainly  we  have  conceptions  of  sublimity  and 
beauty,  the  handiwork  of  the  Almighty,  his  floods,  his  pen- 
cilings,  his  voice  and  his  fear,  such  as  we  never  could  have 
had  without  coming  to  Niagara.  But  we  must  go  down  from 
these  heights  and  enter  our  own  world  again,  and  having 
once  more  with  reverence  and  awe  looked  up  at  the  Cataract 
from  the  river  below,  that  the  last  impression  might  be  that 
which  we  had  felt  to  be  the  strongest,  and  having  cooled  my 
head,  for  by  this  time  it  needed  cooling,  in  the  boiling  waters 
beneath  the  falls — we  went  away. 

Such  was  my  first,  but  not  my  last  visit  to  the  Falls  of 
Niagara 


THE   WHITE  MOUNTAIN  NOTCH,  32! 

THE  WHITE  MOUNTAIN  NOTCH. 

A  DISASTER  IN   1826. 

From  the  sea-coast  of  Maine  to  the  heart  of  the  White 
Hills,  through  the  Notch,  was  a  ride  of  three  hours  only. 
And  such  a  ride !  The  skill  of  the  engineers  and  the  daring 
of  the  projectors  of  the  railroad  have  been  greatly  exagger 
ated,  but  it  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  interesting 
routes  and  roads  in  the  world.  No  line  of  railway  in  Switzer 
land,  and  no  enterprise  in  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  afford 
so  grand  and  picturesque  and  peculiar  views  as  this.  Imagine 
the  outline  of  a  mighty  basin,  two  or  three  miles  across,  and 
a  road  winding  along  the  side  of  it,  half  way  from  the  bottom 
to  the  top.  Above  and  around  the  ledge,  or  terrace,  or  cor 
nice,  on  which  the  iron  way  is  made,  rise  mountains  on 
mountains,  the  names  of  which  are  familiar  in  American 
biography.  Far  below,  these  hills  stretch  down  into  a  valley, 
through  which  the  old  carriage-road  still  takes  its  neglected 
way.  More  than  thirty-five  years  ago  I  rode  through  it,  and 
visited  the  Willey  House,  the  scene  in  1826  of  a  fearful  disas 
ter,  familiar  now  in  history.  At  that  time  the  Crawfords 
were  the  famous  landlords  of  the  mountains. 

Many  accounts  of  the  destruction  of  the  Willey  family  have 
been  published,  defective  in  many  particulars,  and  erroneous 
in  others.  I  learned  that  Ethan  Allen  Crawford  had  a  written 
journal*of  his  life  and  times  among  these  hills,  with  the  most 
authentic  and  minute  particulars  respecting  this  event  that 
has  been  heard  with  intense  emotion  in  all  parts  of  the  world. 
I  applied  to  Mr.  Crawford  for  the  manuscript,  which  he  was 
kind  enough  to  lend  me.  It  abounds  in  romantic  incidents  by 
field  and  flood,  and  descriptions  of  remarkable  occurrences, 
such  as  a  life  of  fifty  years  in  such  a  region  of  country  could 
not  fail  to  furnish  in  rich  abundance.  His  wife  is  the  histo 
rian,  and  the  delicate  touches  of  her  pen,  though  an  untaught 
pen,  discover  a  heart  alive  to  the  wild  grandeur  of  rugged 
nature  around  her,  and  a  nice  appreciation  of  the  beautiful 


322  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

and  true  in  the  world  of  feeling,  which  must  have  been  terri 
bly  invaded  when  death,  in  such  an  awful  car,  came  down 
upon  her  neighbors  in  the  Notch.  From  this  narrative, 
written  at  the  time,  and  from  free  conversation  with  the  peo 
ple  of  that  region,  I  derived  the  facts  which  I  am  about  to 
relate. 

The  passage  through  the  White  Mountains,  called  the 
Notch,  is  about  four  miles  in  length,  and  near  the  middle 
there  is  a  spot  where  the  sides  of  the  mountains  do  not 
approach  so  near  each  other  as  in  the  rest  of  the  gorge,  but 
leave  a  level  surface  of  a  few  acres,  on  which  the  family  of 
Mr.  Calvin  Willey  had  settled.  The  house  rested  on  the  foot 
of  one  mountain,  and  in  front  of  it,  at  the  foot  of  the  other, 
the  Saco  wound  its  way.  A  solitary  spot  this  was,  and  it 
seems  a  wonder  that  human  beings  should  find  an  object 
worth  the  sacrifice  of  living  in  such  a  lonesome  place.  The 
family  consisted  of  Mr.  Willey  and  his  wife,  a  woman  of  more 
refinement  than  would  be  looked  for  in  this  mountain  home, 
five  children,  the  eldest  a  daughter  of  about  thirteen,  and 
two  hired  men. 

In  the  month  of  July,  1826,  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of 
rain,  which  had  caused  a  partial  slide  of  the  surface  of  the 
mountain,  and  had  alarmed  this  family  so  that  they  felt  the 
necessity  of  making  some  provision  against  sudden  destruc 
tion.  The  sides  of  the  hills  are  marked  with  deep  furrows 
down  which  the  ploughshare  of  Almighty  ruin  has  been 
driven,  when  the  storm  has  come  so  fearfully  upon  the  sum 
mits  as  to  loosen  the  soil  from  the  granite  base  ;  and  then 
vast  masses  of  earth,  with  trees  the  growth  of  centuries,  and 
huge  rocks,  in  one  awful  river  of  devastation,  rush  headlong 
into  the  gulfs  below.  Such  occurrences,  though  not  com 
mon,  are  liable  to  take  place  at  any  time  ;  and  no  emblems  of 
death  and  destruction  are  equal  to  the  scene  that  must  en 
sue,  if  the  human  race  are  in  the  way  of  this  solid  cataract. 

The  Willey  family  had  been  forwarned  by  a  slight  slide  in 
the  vicinity,  and  supposing  from  the  make  of  the  mountain, 
which  rises  very  suddenly,  immediately  behind  the  house, 
that  they  were  peculiarly  exposed  in  that  situation,  they  pre 


THE  WHITE  MOUNTAIN  NOTCH.  323 

pared  a  shanty  about  one  hundred  rods  south  of  their  dwell 
ing,  to  which  they  might  retreat  when  they  should  perceive 
signs  of  coming  danger. 

Near  the  close  of  the  month  of  August,  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents,  so  as  to  fill  the  inhabitants  of  the  plains  above 
the  Willey  house  with  apprehensions.  At  this  juncture, 
there  were  no  visitors  at  any  of  the  taverns,  and  consequently 
little  passing  from  one  part  of  the  mountains  to  the  'other. 
Toward  night,  a  solitary  foot  traveller  was  wending  his  way 
from  the  Crawfords'  down  through  the  Notch,  the  storm 
having  subsided.  He  found  great  difficulty  in  working  his 
passage,  so  fearfully  had  the  road  been  broken  up  by  the  tor 
rents  ;  but,  thinking  he  should  be  able  to  reach  Willey's  be 
fore  dark,  he  pushed  on.  He  succeeded  in  getting  there 
shortly  after  nightfall,  and  was  surprised  to  see  no  light  in 
the  window.  A  little  dog  stood  in  the  open  door,  and  re 
sisted  his  entrance,  but  after  some  persuasion  was  pacified  ; 
when  our  traveller  entered,  and  soon  discovered  evidence 
that  the  family  had  fled  from  their  beds  in  haste,  and  that 
he  was  now  the  sole  tenant  of  a  deserted  house.  It  was  too 
late  for  him  to  seek  the  family ;  and,  naturally  concluding 
that  they  had  been  alarmed  by  the  storm,  of  whose  frightful 
fury  he  had  already  seen  terrible  effects,  and  had  gone  down 
to  the  settlement  at  the  southern  extremity  of  the  Notch,  he 
quietly  possessed  himself  of  a  vacant  bed,  and  slept  till 
morning. 

What  a  scene  presented  itself  to  the  eye  of  this  lone  tra 
veller,  when  h<*  rose  the  next  day !  Thousands  of  acres  of 
the  mountain  .>ide,  loosed  from  the  moorings  that  for  ages 
had  defied  the  storm,  had  come  down  in  one  fell  avalanche, 
and  lay  in  wild  confusion,  like  a  world's  wreck,  at  his  feet. 
The  stream  had  been  driven  from  its  wonted  channel,  no  signs 
of  a  road  were  lefc  to  mark  his  way,  but  the  bare  mountains 
on  each  side  were  his  guide,  and  he  went  on  over  the  broken 
masses  that  were  -oiled  before  him,  expecting  to  find  the 
Willey  family  at  t3^  house  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Notch. 
Arriving  there,  he'ikas  alarmed,  and  so  were  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood,  s  a\;n  it  was  known  that  the  Willey  family 


\ 


324  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

had  fled  from  their  house,  but  had  not  been  heard  of  below. 
The  truth  burst  on  the  mind  in  an  instant,  that  the  deluge  of 
earth  and  stone  had  destroyed  them  all !  The  alarm  was 
spread  among  the  few  inhabitants  of  that  region,  and  they 
set  out  without  delay  to  learn  the  fate  of  their  friends.  On 
reaching  the  spot  where  the  catastrophe  occurred,  they  sought 
a  long  time  without  finding  the  least  evidence  that  any  of 
them  had  perished,  until  at  length  the  arm  of  one  of  the 
children  was  seen  protruding  through  a  mass  of  earth,  and  the 
dead  body  was  speedily  disinterred.  Quite  at  a  distance  from 
this  spot,  another  of  the  children  was  found  on  the  surface 
without  a  wound,  having  evidently  been  swept  away  by  the 
waters  and  drowned.  The  sad  search  was  continued,  and  one 
after  another  of  the  lifeless  bodies  was  dug  out,  until  all  but 
three  were  found  ;  the  mother  and  one  of  the  daughters  side 
by  side  in  death,  and  the  rest  some  in  one  place  and  some  in 
another,  where  they  were  caught  and  crushed  by  the  descend 
ing  current,  or  dashed  along  on  its  resistless  wave.  Three  of 
them  were  never  found.  They  sleep  in  their  mountain  grave; 
the  wild  winds  sweep  over  their  unmarked  sepulchres,  and 
the  stranger  walks  upon  the  earth  that  covers  them,  ten, 
twenty,  it  may  be,  fifty  feet  below  the  surface. 

This  brief  recital  of  facts  will  enable  the  reader  to  draw 
his  own  picture  of  the  scene  of  wild  dismay  that  wrapt  itself 
around  this  household  in  their  last  night  of  life.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  they  were  roused  by  the  sound  of  che  descending 
torrents,  and  thinking  the  shanty  which  they  had  constructed 
the  safest  place,  they  fled  thither;  and  the'cC,  a  miserable 
group,  they  huddled  in  darkness  and  terror,  surrounded  with 
more  circumstances  of  horror  than  a  wild  fancy  could  well 
conjure,  an  awful  storm  of  rain,  a  swollen  river  roaring  before 
them,  and  then  the  awful  cataract  of  roc'^s  and  trees  and 
earth,  a  more  terrible  engine  of  wrath  and  woe  than  the  icy 
avalanche  of  the  Alps,  comes  pouring  down  upon  them. 

I  climbed  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  jyD  trace  the  course 
of  this  slide.  It  commenced,  as  the  uf-^appy  victims  had 
supposed  it  would,  immediately  above  '  beir  little  dwelling, 
and  just  before  it  reached  the  house  ac  sim  rock  parted  the 


THE   WHITE  MOUNTAIN  NOTCH,  325 

avalanche,  as  may  be  represented  by  an  inverted  ^,  one  branch 
of  the  stream  passing  to  the  north  of  the  house  and  crushing 
the  stable  with  its  dumb  tenants,  and  the  other,  being  the 
great  mass  of  the  slide,  pouring  to  the  south,  where  the  fugi 
tives  vainly  sought  their  safety.  Had  they  abode  in  the 
house,  not  a  hair  of  their  heads  would  have  been  hurt.  The 
building  was  untouched.  It  was  an  ark  to  which  they  should 
have  clung,  but  which  they  deserted  to  perish.  The  house 
still  stands,  though  unfortunately  for  the  melancholy  associa 
tions  that  one  loves  to  cherish  with  such  a  spot,  it  has  been 
rebuilt,  and  is  now  kept  as  a  small  tavern.  The  family,  whom 
I  found  there,  had  but  lately  moved  in,  and  the  good  woman 
told  me  it  was  "  dreadful  lonesome,"  but  she  thought  she 
"could  stand  it."  So  could  I,  if  there  were  no  other  houses 
in  the  world  to  be  let. 

Three  of  those  victims  have  slept  undisturbed  fifty-four 
years.  But  for  the  art  of  printing,  their  burial  would  by  this 
time  have  become  a  vague  tradition,  and  in  a  century  or  two 
more  would  be  forgotten.  Then  if  the  railroad  had  been  run 
on  the  line  of  the  Saco  river,  instead  of  going  up  the  side  of 
the  basin,  and  the  remains  of  this  household  and  a  few 
kitchen  utensils  had  been  found  in  excavating  the  earth,  over 
which  huge  trees  had  grown,  we  should  have  been  informed 
by  learned  paleontologists  that  pre-historic  man  had  been 
found  in  the  bottom  of  the  White  Mountain  Pass,  and  the 
evidence  by  his  side  that  he  was  a  worker  in  metals,  proba 
bly  a  contemporary  of  Tubal  Cain.  The  printing-press  has 
changed  all  that.  Facts,  with  their  dates,  now  go  on  imper 
ishable  records,  and  theorists  have  to  go  behind  printed 
pages  to  stultify  the  age  we  live  in. 

When  I  was  here  in  1844  we  travelled  by  stage,  at  the  foot 
of  these  mountains.  Now  I  am  half  way  up,  and  whirling 
along  the  side,  and  looking  down  upon  a  vast  waving  sea  of 
green  :  many  shades  of  green  :  making  an  exquisite  picture, 
and  in  the  autumn,  when  the  various  colors  come  out  as  the 
leaves  prepare  to  die,  the  view  is  said  to  be  brilliant  and  gor 
geous  beyond  desciption. 

Observation  cars  are  provided — platforms  with  no  sides  to 


326  JREN&US  LETTERS. 

obstruct  the  sight,  and  on  these  the  passengers  sit  who  choose 
to  take  the  prospect  through  whirling  smoke  and  cinders, 
supposing  it  to  be  more  enjoyable  than  to  sit  inside.  But, 
anyway,  in  or  out,  the  pass  is  grand,  and  has  to  be  made 
before  its  remarkable  beauty  and  sublimity  can  be  under 
stood. 


THE   MAN  WHO  HAD  TO  WAIT   FOR  A  SEAT  IN 
CHURCH. 

He  writes  a  grumble  to  one  of  the  daily  newspapers.  He 
says  that  he  went  to  one  of  the  large  uptown,  Fifth  avenue 
churches,  got  there  half  an  hour  before  the  time  for  service 
to  begin,  had  to  stand  by  the  door  and  wait,  and  wait,  until 
the  people  assembled,  and  the  pewholders  were  in,  and  then 
he  was  conducted  to  a  vacant  seat.  He  had  to  stand  up  so 
long  that  he  became  impatient  and  cross,  and  now  complains 
of  the  practice  which  is  not  peculiar  to  the  church  he  visited, 
but  is  the  same  in  all  churches  that  are  not  free.  And  he  is 
not  a  stranger  in  the  city,  but  had,  this  Sabbath  morning, 
wandered  away  from  the  neighborhood  of  many  churches,  to 
hear  a  celebrated  preacher. 

Such  complaints  are  rarely  made  by  strangers.  A  person 
from  a  hotel  in  the  city,  going  to  a  popular  church,  expects 
to  depend  on  the  hospitality  of  the  people  whose  church  he 
visits,  and  he  is  thankful  when,  at  the  proper  time,  he  is  con 
ducted  to  a  seat.  There  is  no  want  of  hospitality  in  any  of 
our  churches.  In  many  of  them  the  young  gentlemen  or 
ganize  themselves  into  a  corps  of  ushers,  and  take  their  posi 
tions  in  the  several  aisles,  to  show  strangers  to  seats  with  the 
least  possible  delay.  They  perform  this  gratuitous  and 
thankless  service  as  a  religious  work,  to  promote  the  good  of 
the  church  and  of  strangers.  In  other  churches  the  trustees 
themselves,  venerable  men,  assist  in  this  office.  But  why  is 
it  necessary  ?  The  few  strangers  in  town,  scattered  among 
the  several  churches,  would  not  require  extra  aid  to  find 


WAITING  FOR  A    SEAT  IN  CHURCH.  327 

seats.  The  doorkeeper  of  the  house  could  easily  attend  to 
their  wants.  But  the  trouble  comes  of  the  habit  that  thou 
sands  of  people  have,  of  going  about  to  hear  preaching  with 
no  settled  place  of  worship.  Nine-tenths  of  all  the  people 
standing  at  the  door,  waiting  to  be  shown  into  pews,  are  resi 
dents  of  the  city,  and  ought  to  have  pews  of  their  own.  This 
grumbler,  whose  complaint  has  led  to  these  remarks,  ought 
to  have  been  in  his  own  pew  in  the  church  where  his  residence 
or  his  views  made  it  convenient  and  profitable  for  him  to 
attend.  But  he  is  one  of  thousands  in  this  city  who  sponge 
on  other  people  for  the  "  means  of  grace."  This  is  the  way 
it  works. 

We  have  tried  various  ways  and  means  of  "  supporting  the 
gospel "  as  it  is  called.  Free  churches,  open  to  all  comers, 
first  come  first  served,  have  been  tried,  and  some,  on  the  same 
plan,  are  in  operation  now.  That  is  one  way.  The  plan 
has  been  a  failure.  Even  the  Roman  Catholic  churches, 
which  are  supposed  to  be  practically  free,  exact  a  rent  from 
the  poorest  working  girls.  The  Methodists  have  pewed 
churches,  whereas  they  formerly  repudiated  the  system.  In 
our  Protestant  churches  the  plan  is  to  rent  sittings,  and  from 
these  rents  to  pay  the  necessary  expenses  of  the  church. 
And  if  a  family  or  individual  wishes  to  have  a  seat  in  any 
one  of  them,  and  is  unable  to  pay  for  it,  the  applicant  will 
be  furnished  with  a  good  pew,  free,  or  on  such  terms  as 
he  prefers.  This  is  the  constant  practice  in  all  our  Protes 
tant  congregations.  No  one,  outside  of  those  in  charge, 
knows  whether  you  are  paying  $150  a  year  for  your  pew,  or 
only  $1.50,  or  nothing.  No  family  in  this  city  lives  so  far 
from  church,  or  is  so  poor,  as  not  to  be  able  to  have  a  good 
seat  in  a  Christian  church.  Thus  the  gospel  is  offered  with 
out  money  to  all  who  wish  to  hear.  And  going  out  into  the 
highways,  are  visitors  seeking  those  who  neglect  the  sanc 
tuary,  and  persuading  them  to  come  in,  so  that  no  one  per 
ishes,  or  lives,  in  want  of  an  offer  of  the  gospel. 

That  is  the  plan  for  supporting  the  church  in  such  a  city  as 
this.  But  we  will  now  suppose  that  "  the  man  who  had  to 
wait  for  a  seat "  was  to  have  his  way :  his  idea  seems  to  be, 


328  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

that,  as  soon  as  he  arrives  at  the  door  of  any  church  in  town, 
he  may  walk  in,  select  such  seat  as  best  pleases  him,  plant 
himself  in  it,  and  "enjoy  the  gospel."  If  he  has  that  right, 
others  have  it,  and  the  church  is  at  once  given  up  to  squat 
ters.  Who  will  "hire"  a  pew  if  it  is  thus  to  be  at  the  mercy 
of  such  interlopers  as  these  who  go  from  place  to  place  to  hear 
something  new.  The  plan  of  sustaining  the  church  by  pew 
rents  would  break  down  in  a  year,  if  it  were  practically  un 
derstood  that  no  pewholder  can  have  his  own  when  he 
wants  it. 

There  is  no  church  in  this,  or  any  other  American  city, 
where  a  stranger  would  not  be  instantly  invited  to  a  vacant  seat 
in  any  pew  so  soon  as  his  presence  was  discovered.  In  Lon 
don  I  have  stood  in  the  aisle,  through  the  whole  service,  at  the 
door  of  a  pew  in  which  there  was  room  for  two  or  three  more 
persons,  but  the  occupants  would  not  invite  me  in,  because  I 
was  a  stranger.  Etiquette  probably  forbade  the  courtesy. 
The  French  are  said  to  be  even  more  particular :  at  least,  I 
have  read  of  a  Frenchman  who  would  not  give  his  hand  to  a 
drowning  man  because  he  had  not  been  introduced  to  him. 
Our  pews  are  reserved  until  the  regular  attendants  are  in 
them.  Then  the  ushers  fill  up  the  vacant  sittings  with  the 
waiting  strangers.  If  a  better  plan  can  be  devised,  let  us 
have  it.  Perhaps  a  convention  of  those  who  get  their  preach 
ing  for  nothing  every  Sabbath,  might  be  held,  and  a  standing 
committee  appointed  to  suggest  a  plan  to  obtain  their  rights. 

I  can  imagine  them  in  session,  being  called  together  by  my 
grumbler,  at  the  close  of  a  service  which  they  have  attended 
in  other  people's  pews.  The  grumbler  would  take  the  chair 
and  open  the  meeting  with  prayer,  thanking  God  that  they 
are  not  as  other  people,  and  especially  as  those  who  build 
churches,  pay  for  them,  and  worship  in  them  :  and  praying  that 
the  time  may  soon  come  when  churches  will  grow  on  the 
street  corners  and  ministers  will  be  fed  with  manna  from 
heaven,  and  men  may  have  the  means  of  grace  without  its 
costing  them  a  cent.  Then  he  would  draw  from  his  pocket  a 
series  of  resolutions  which,  being  read,  would  be  unanimously 
adopted ;  to  this  effect : 


THE   GAMBLERS  AT  MONACO.  329 

Resolved,  That  it  is  unbecoming  a  Christian  people  to  sit  in  their  own 
pews  while  we  want  the  use  of  them. 

Resolved,  That  the  people  who  pay  for  the  church  and  its  support  ought 
to  be  satisfied  with  having  had  the  privilege,  and  now  it  is  no  more  than 
fair  that  they  should  stand  at  the  door  and  wait  till  we  have  taken  their  pews  : 
then,  if  there  are  any  left,  they  can  come  in  and  be  seated. 

Resolved,  That  these  resolutions  be  published  in  \b&New  York  Observer, 
provided  the  editors  will  pay  us  for  the  privilege. 

These  resolutions  express  the  views  of  that  large  class  of 
church-goers  who  have  no  pews  of  their  own  for  which  they 
honestly  pay.  Instead  of  grumbling  because  they  have  to 
wait  for  a  seat,  they  should  take  a  pew,  or  part  of  one,  in  a 
church  convenient  to  their  residence:  identify  themselves 
with  the  congregation  :  go  to  work  as  Christian  people :  and 
then.only  will  they  get  the  good  of  the  gospel. 


THE  GAMBLERS  AT  MONACO. 

From  a  sound  sleep  last  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  sudden, 
strangely  startling  noise.  I  thought  something  had  fallen  in 
the  room  ;  I  struck  a  light,  and  finding  everything  in  its  place, 
went  to  the  front  window,  opened  the  shutter,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  street.  All  was  silence  and  darkness.  But  in 
the  morning  (it  was  now  a  quarter  past  one)  the  body  of  a 
man  was  found  upon  the  sidewalk.  He  had  shot  himself 
through  the  heart.  It  made  me  sad  to  think  that  I  had 
heard,  and  perhaps  was  the  only  one  who  did  hear,  the  sound 
•of  that  death-shot.  The  man  had  come  back  to  Nice  from 
Monaco,  ruined  by  gambling,  and,  in  madness  and  despair, 
had  made  one  leap  from  the  hells  of  Monaco  to  another  from 
which  there  is  no  escape. 

"It's  nothing  strange,"  said  my  friend  who  explained  the 
suicide;  "they  often  kill  themselves,  these  gamblers  ;  and  we 
have  the  same,  or  worse,  tragedies  every  year.  You  noticed 
the  sudden  death  of  a  young  man  last  week :  the  papers  said 


33°  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

he  committed  suicide,  but  the  facts  were  carefully  concealed. 
A  mere  boy,  he  got  in  the  way  of  gambling,  till  his  fresh 
youth  was  blighted,  and  he  murdered  himself  before  he  was 
1 8  years  of  age. 

"  Two  years  ago  a  young  married  couple  came  here ;  they 
had  apartments  close  by  me  :  the  wife  had  the  money,  and 
the  man  could  spend  only  what  she  let  him  have  :  when  she 
found  that  he  was  frequenting  the  tables  at  Monaco,  she 
refused  to  give  him  more :  he  was  already  in  debt,  and  in  his 
desperation  he  killed  her  and  then  himself.  The  tragedy 
was  hushed  up  as  well  as  it  could  be,  but  it  was  one  of  many 
in  the  history  of  the  infernal  regions  next  door." 

This  vortex  of  ruin  has  had  a  depressing  influence  upon 
Nice,  as  a  winter  resort.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
come  and  enjoy  the  season ;  the  numerous  and  spacious 
hotels  are  crowded  :  and  new  ones  are  every  year  added  to 
the  number :  but  it  is  said  that  the  growth  of  the  city  has 
been  checked,  and  hundreds  of  families  that  formerly  made 
this  their  home  in  the  winter  now  seek  other  climes  where 
such  temptations  are  not  presented. 

A  standing  notice  in  the  daily  papers  says  that  no  inhabit 
ants  of  Nice  are  permitted  to  enter  the  "  saloons  of  play"  at 
Monaco  unless  they  are  members  of  a  Club  !  This  curious 
provision  is  very  French.  There  are  several  fashionable 
clubs  in  Nice,  answering  to  those  in  London  and  New  York, 
and  here,  as  there,  it  is  understood  that  no  gambling  is 
allowed.  But  it  is  equally  well  understood  that  the  members 
may  gamble  at  their  own  sweet  wills.  And  we  have  had  our 
own  amusement  lately,  reading  in  the  papers  the  incidents  at 
the  clubs  in  New  York,  illustrating  beautifully  what  the 
world  means  by  a  gentleman  and  man  of  honor.  "  The  Hea 
then  Chinee"  has  his  pupils  and  friends  in  the  highest  circles 
of  club  life  at  home  and  abroad.  The  members  of  clubs  at 
Nice  are  free  to  enter  the  "  salles  de  jeu"  of  Monaco,  where 
there  is  no  play  but  for  money,  and  where  the  company 
that  run  the  machine  make  incredible  sums  out  of  the  dupes 
that  are  drawn  into  their  saloons.  So  the  fly  walks  into 
the  spider's  parlor,  and  has  his  life-blood  sucked  out  of 


THE   GAMBLERS  AT  MONACO,  33* 

him.  This  rule  of  exclusion  is  merely  a  pretence :  cards  of 
admission  can  be  obtained  by  any  and  every  body  who  has 
money  to  lose,  and  the  nuisance  is  just  as  great  now  as  it  ever 
was. 

A  few  years  ago  these  gambling  tables  were  set  up  in 
public  at  most  of  the  great  German  and  French  watering- 
places.  Homburg  and  Baden  Baden  were  the  chief  cities  of 
play.  Public  opinion  has  put  them  down,  though  they  were 
the  source  of  much  gain  to  the  governments  that  licensed 
them.  Gambling  is  not  now  considered  respectable  except 
by  the  members  of  our  fashionable  clubs.  This  establish 
ment  at  Monaco  is  about  the  last  that  is  left.  I  believe  one 
is  still  licensed  in  an  obscure  Canton  in  Switzerland.  And 
if  you  ask  why  it  flourishes  here  in  the  midst  of  civilization 
and  Christianity,  I  will  tell  you. 

Monaco  is  a  kingdom,  the  smallest  and  most  contemptible 
in  the  world.  It  is  also  one  of  the  oldest,  and  perhaps  the 
very  oldest,  in  Europe.  It  dates  from  the  tenth  century.  On 
the  coast  of  the  Mediterranean  sea,  at  the  foot  of  the  Mari 
time  Alps,  three  or  four  fishing  and  trading  villages  managed, 
with  infinite  and  foolish  sacrifices,  to  make  themselves  into 
a  separate  State,  over  which  the  Grimaldi  family  has  held 
precarious  sway  for  a  thousand  years.  In  the  chances  and 
changes  that  have  modified  the  map  of  Europe,  (in  which 
Nice  has  been  at  one  time  in  France,  and  then  in  Italy,  and 
now  in  France  again,)  the  insignificance  of  Monaco  has  been 
its  shield.  Two  of  the  towns  that  once  belonged  to  it  have 
managed  to  get  out,  and  Monaco  now  stands  alone  in  its 
glory,  the  least  and  the  meanest  of  kingdoms.  Its  entire 
population  is  less  than  10,000.  It  consists  of  a  small  town  on 
a  remarkable  promontory,  inaccessible  from  the  seaside,  but 
making  a  snug  harbor  which  separates  the  town  from  Monte 
Carlo.  On  this  hill  a  splendid  hotel  is  built,  and  beautiful 
villas  are  springing  up.  The  Prince  of  this  petty  domain 
has  a  royal  palace  with  splendid  gardens  around  it:  he  has 
his  castle,  and  guns  and  soldiers,  and  is  the  equal  in  position 
with  any  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe.  To  keep  up  this 
style  and  state,  he  must  have  money :  the  taxes  that  his  sub- 


33  2  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

jects  had  to  pay  were  so  heavy  as  to  lead  to  the  revolt  and 
secession  of  Mentone  and  Rocca  Brun.  There  was  every 
reason  to  fear  the  Monacans  would  follow  the  lead  of  their 
neighbors,  and  that  some  fine  morning  they  might  pitch  the 
Prince  into  the  sea  so  invitingly  near.  In  this  crisis  the 
famous  man  Blanc,  who  was  harvesting  the  gold  of  all  the 
fools  at  Homburg  and  Baden,  obtained  a  license  to  set  up  his 
tables  at  Monaco  for  the  accommodation  of  the  silly  sheep 
that  would  come  to  Nice,  and  Mentone  and  Monaco,  to  be 
fleeced  in  winter.  Mr.  Blanc  and  his  partners  agreed,  in  con 
sideration  of  their  license,  to  pay  the  Prince  an  annual  sum 
of  $75,000,  and  also  to  keep  his  city  lighted  with  gas,  streets 
in  order,  drainage  perfect,  and  to  make  the  place  more  and 
more  attractive  for  the  fashionable  world.  The  climate  is 
delightful,  the  King  lives  in  Paris  the  most  of  the  time,  and 
a  reign  of  peace  and  plenty  is  enjoyed  under  the  general 
auspices  of  a  nest  of  gamblers  who  make  vast  sums  of  money 
out  of  their  contract  with  the  King.  I  am  told  that  their 
expenditures  in  city  improvements  and  taxes  amount  to  a 
thousand  dollars  a  day ;  and  this  will  help  you  to  some  idea 
of  the  money  that  must  be  lost  by  the  visitors.  There  are 
five  or  six  large  tables,  with  as  many  games  of  various  kinds, 
at  which  an  indefinite  number  of  people  may  play,  and  these 
games  go  on  steadily,  day  and  night,  and  the  stream  flowing, 
almost  without  a  turn,  into  the  bank,  or  the  bag,  of  the  com 
pany.  Women  and  men,  young  and  old,  English  and  Ameri 
can,  French,  Italians,  Germans  and  Russians,  Orientals  swar 
thy  and  passionless  in  their  looks,  all  play,  all  lose,  all  play 
again,  for  it  is  the  nature  of  this  vice  (of  all  vices)  that  indul 
gence  stimulates  the  passion,  blunts  the  edge  of  reason,  like 
the  horse-leech  cries  "more,  more,"  and  never  says  it  is 
enough. 

Under  the  guise  of  Christian  charity,  many  churches  in 
America,  and  many  benevolent  organizations,  in  the  spirit  of 
this  Monaco  company,  set  up  lotteries  and  raffles  to  tempt 
the  people  to  risk  a  little  money  in  the  hope  of  getting  more. 
So  this  Monaco  company  give  large  donations  to  religious 
and  charitable  objects,  hoping  thereby  to  take  the  curse  from 


MADE  WITHOUT  A  MAKER.  333 

their  business  and  conciliate  public  favor.  The  principle  of 
their  accursed  trade,  covered  with  blood  and  loaded  with  the 
misery  of  ruined  families  and  the  souls  of  its  victims  blighted 
in  this  world,  damned  in  that  to  come,  is  just  the  same  as 
that  by  which  money  is  won  at  a  church  fair. 


MADE  WITHOUT  A  MAKER. 

Opening  an  encyclopedia,  in  pursuit  of  knowledge,  my 
attention  was  drawn  to  the  word  protoplasm.  I  read  its  defi 
nition,  and  then  a  long  and  weary  essay  on  the  subject. 
Perhaps  you  will  say  the  same  of  this  letter.  It  may  be 
weary,  it  shall  not  be  very  long. 

The  book  said  that  protoplasm  comes  from  two  Greek 
words  meaning_/?r.y/  and  form,  a  term  applied  to  the  supposed 
original  substance  from  which  all  living  beings  are  devel 
oped,  and  which  is  the  universal  concomitant  of  every  phe 
nomenon  of  life.  All  that  is  comprehended  for  brevity  under 
the  term  life,  "  the  growth  of  plants,  the  flight  of  birds,  or  a 
train  of  thought :"  that  is  to  say,  vegetable  life,  brute  life, 
and  human  life,  "  is  thus  supposed  to  be  caused  by  corporeal 
organs  which  either  themselves  consist  of  protoplasm,  or 
have  been  developed  out  of  it."  The  first  living  things  are 
called  moners,  which  are  made  out  of  pure  protoplasm:  that 
and  nothing  more.  You  must  put  a  pin  there.  Not  to  prick 
the  moner,  but  to  mark  the  place  in  the  process  of  getting 
something  out  of  nothing.  Who  made  the  protoplasm  is  not 
"supposed."  It  is  supposed  that  moners  are  made  of  proto 
plasm.  When  the  colored  preacher  in  Alabama  spoke  of  the 
first  man  being  made  of  wet  clay  and  set  up  against  the  fence 
to  dry,  one  of  his  doubting  hearers  asked  out  loud,  "  Who 
made  the  fence?"  The  preacher  bade  him  be  silent,  for 
"  such  questions  would  upset  any  system  of  theology." 

The  author  proceeds :  moners  are  "  the  simplest  living 
beings  we  can  conceive  of  as  capable  of  existing,"  and  "  they 


334  IREN&US  LETTERS, 

perform  all  the  functions  which  in  their  entirety  constitute, 
in  the  most  highly  organized  animals  and  plants,  what  is 
comprehended  in  the  idea  of  life."  You  see  it  is  becoming 
interesting.  In  the  simplest  conceivable  being,  all  the  func 
tions  of  the  most  fully  developed  man  are  found.  You 
thought  that  it  required  infinite  power  and  wisdom  to  make 
a  being  in  whom  resides  a  soul  of  boundless  reach  :  but  now 
you  are  told  that  in  a  moner — don't  forget  what  a  moner  is 
— the  most  highly  organized  system  of  animal  life  and  func 
tions  exists.  Some  of  these  wonderful  fellows,  the  moners, 
live  "in  fresh  water,"  "  others  in  the  sea."  As  a  general  rule 
"  they  are  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,"  but  "  some  are  as  large 
as  the  head  of  a  pin."  Put  another  pin  here  so  as  to  see  its 
head.  Some  "  are  smooth  :"  others  have  "  numerous  delicate 
threads  radiating  in  all  directions."  Sixteen  varieties  of 
these  curious  first  things  are  catalogued.  Haeckel  has  done 
it.  He  has  also  shown  that  although  moners  are  the  "  sim 
plest  living  beings  we  can  conceive  of  as  capable  of  existing" 
and  "  consist  solely  of  protoplasm,"  yet  protoplasm  is  not  a 
"simple"  substance,  but  consists  of  carbon  50  to  55  per  cent, 
hydrogen  6  to  8,  nitrogen  15  to  17,  oxygen  20  to  22,  and  only 
i  to  2  of  sulphur.  Thus  it  is  proved  that  the  simplest  of  all 
conceivable  beings  is  composed  of  a  compound  including  five 
other  substances.  You  might  put  another  pin  there,  for  it 
becomes  more  curiously  entertaining  as  we  proceed.  We  have 
now  seen  that  the  origin  of  life  was,  first,  pure  protoplasm, 
secondly,  moners  are  made  of  it  solely,  and  themselves  per 
fectly  simple :  and  now  protoplasm  made  of  five  totally  dis 
similar  constituents  rolled  into  one. 

According  to  the  plastid  theory  the  great  variety  of  vital 
phenomena  is  the  consequence  of  the  infinitely  delicate 
chemical  difference  in  the  composition  of  protoplasm,  and  it 
considers  protoplasm  to  be  the  sole  active  life  substance. 
The  author  goes  on  to  say  that  the  protoplasm  theory 
received  a  wide  and  thorough  illustration  from  the  study  of 
rhizopods  which  Ernst  Haeckel  published  in  1862,  and  its 
complete  application  in  a  subsequent  work  "  by  the  same  na 
turalist."  "  Haeckel,"  our  author  says,  discovered  the  "  sim- 


MADE   WITHOUT  A   MAKER.  335 

plest"  of  organisms  in  1864,  and  Haeckel  elaborated  "the 
extremest  philosophical  consequences  of  the  protoplasm  the 
ory."  And  our  author  having  quoted  Haeckel  seven  times, 
closes  his  essay  by  referring,  among  other  authors,  to  five 
several  and  distinct  works  by  Haeckel.  Being  by  this  time 
in  the  spirit  of  inquiry  into  the  origin  of  things,  I  sought 
the  authorship  of  our  author's  treatise,  and,  in  a  list  of 
authors  in  the  beginning  of  the  book,  it  was  assigned  to 
Haeckel ! 

How  like  it  is  to  the  thing  it  treats  !  Here  is  protoplasm 
illustrated.  Whenever  our  author  would  illustrate  any  point 
of  importance,  he  tells  us  what  Haeckel  says :  and  he  and 
Haeckel  are  one  and  the  same ;  just  as  protoplasm  begets 
moners  which  are  solely  protoplasm,  and  the  simplest  con 
ceivable  beings,  yet  solely  composed  of  one  substance  itself 
made  up  of  five.  And  this  is  philosophy  ! 

A  speaker  in  Congress  began  by  saying  grandiloquently : 
"The  generality  of  mankind  in  general  are  disposed  to 
oppress  the  generality  of  mankind  in  general."  "You  had 
better  stop,"  said  one  near  to  him,  "  you  are  coming  out  at  the 
same  hole  you  went  in  at."  The  philosophers  of  the  Haeckel 
and  Huxley  school  argue  in  a  circle  with  the  same  result. 
Dr.  Lundy  tells  us  of  a  Hindoo  picture  of  a  god  with  his 
great  toe  in  his  mouth,  thus  having  no  beginning  or  end:  and 
the  Doctor  says  that  "  the  toe  in  his  mouth  represents  his 
incomprehensible  spiritual  nature."  The  circle  out  of  which 
is  evolved  the  plastid  theory  of  life  has  the  same  incompre 
hensibility  that  represents  its  idea  of  self-existence  by  an  old 
man  kissing  his  big  toe. 

But  is  there  no  point,  no  moral,  no  great  truth  to  be  devel 
oped  out  of  this  mass  of  contradiction  and  absurdity  ?  What 
is  the  necessary  deduction  from  the  moner  theory  of  life  ? 
Logically  and  intentionally  the  inference  is  that,  in  the 
human  being,  there  is  no  life  that  has  not  the  same  origin 
and  substance  and  function  with  that  of  vegetables  and 
beasts.  These  teachers  teach  that  "  a  train  of  thought"  "  is 
composed  of  corporeal  organs"  and  comes  of  protoplasm. 
Thus  man  and  beast  and  potatoes  are  put  on  the  same  level, 


336  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

having  no  functions  except  corporeal,  and  with  no  principle 
of  life  that  survives  the  dissolution  of  the  corpus.  This  is 
the  opinion  of  many  in  our  day.  It  is  also  as  old  a  theory 
as  Epicurus  who,  in  his  garden-school  at  Athens  300  years 
before  Christ,  denied  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and  taught 
the  doctrine  which  Democritus  had  elaborated  in  his  cos 
mogony,  and  which  was  taught  by  Leucippus  of  Abdera,  a 
hundred  years  before  Epicurus  was  born,  and  held  by  the  wits 
of  Egypt  a  thousand  years  before.  They  called  it  the  atomic 
theory :  that  matter  is  self-existent  and  originally  composed 
of  atoms,  each  atom  having  power  of  motion,  and  these 
atoms  went  whirling  about  like  the  bits  of  glass  in  a  ka^ido- 
scope,  till  they  stuck  together  in  their  present  forms.  This 
is  as  rational  and  philosophical  as  protoplasm,  and  is  cer 
tainly  its  germ  out  of  which  moners  and  other  monsters  are 
developed. 

How  beautiful  in  contrast  is  the  faith  of  the  Christian.  It 
is  revealed  to  us  in  the  Bible.  The  Lord  God  made  man  and 
"  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life ;  and  man 
became  a  living  soul."  iNot  so  did  he  make  a  horse  or  a 
bird.  Materialists,  Epicureans,  Haeckelians  and  others  of 
that  school,  are  consistent  in  putting  equal  value  upon  the 
life  of  a  beast  and  a  woman,  or  even  in  esteeming  the  former 
more  highly  if  their  tastes  so  lead  them.  But  we  who  believe 
that  Christ  died  for  human  beings  only,  and  that  they  who  are 
in  Him  become  partakers  of  a  divine  nature  also,  see  in  man 
a  dignity,  sanctity  and  glory  excelled  only  by  the  angels  and 
Him  "  in  whom  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being." 


ARGUING  WITH  A  POKER  AND  A  HAMMER. 

A  fearful  tragedy  commands  my  pen  as  I  sit  down  to  write 
this  letter.  On  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  river,  in  the  midst 
of  a  Christian  community,  and  just  before  Christmas  last, 
the  herald  of  peace  and  good  will,  a  bloody  drama  was  per 
formed. 


ARGUING  WITH  A  POKER  AND  A  HAMMER.      337 

Above  the  village  of  Kingston  and  below  Saugerties,  on  the 
western  bank  of  this  goodly  river,  is  a  region  of  country 
known  as  Flatbush.  Two  Christian  churches,  the  one  Re 
formed  Dutch,  the  other  Methodist  Episcopal,  flourish  in  this 
rural  region. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rittie  were  a  married  pair,  in  middle  age ;  he 
the  sexton  of  the  Reformed  Church,  she  an  active  member  of 
the  Methodist.  However  well  they  may  have  agreed  on 
other  matters,  they  were  bound  to  differ  on  questions  of  faith 
and  practice  that  distinguish  the  two  communities,  one  Cal- 
vinistic,  the  other  Arminian.  How  much  either  knew  about 
doctrine  is  not  stated.  Both  were  very  much  set  in  their 
way.  Arguments  were  frequent  and  earnest.  Words  how 
ever  made  no  very  deep  impression.  The  more  they  argued 
the  more  thoroughly  convinced  they  were  of  the  soundness 
and  scripturalness  of  their  respective  opinions.  Such  a  result 
is  not  unusual.  John  Knox  and  John  Wesley  could  not 
have  been  more  decided  in  their  religious  beliefs.  It  grew 
worse  and  worse.  Breath  was  spent  in  vain.  It  generally  is 
when  disputants  are  warm,  and  this  man  and  wife  waxed 
warm,  even  in  winter,  when  they  fought  the  fight  of  faiths. 
It  was  not  a  good  fight.  And  it  is  quite  likely  that  the  man 
usually  got  the  worst  of  the  argument.  Certainly  he  worried 
the  most  over  it,  as  would  not  have  been  the  case  had  he 
been  the  victor  in  the  war  of  words. 

Coming  home  from  a  hard  day's  work,  he  was  invited  by 
his  loving  spouse  to  go  in  the  evening  to  the  prayer  meeting 
which  her  church  people  were  holding,  within  half  a  mile  of 
their  own  dwelling.  To  this  kind  invitation  he  replied,  "No, 
Sarah,  I  am  too  tired  to  walk  so  far  to-night :  let's  go  to 
Swart's,"  a  near  neighbor.  To  which  she  answered,  "  No,  if 
you  can't  go  to  prayer  meeting  with  me,  I  am  not  going  to 
Swart's  with  you."  This  she  said  in  a  sharp  tone.  It  is 
affirmed  of  her  that  she  had  "  a  tongue  in  her  head."  People 
generally  have ;  and  so  far  as  my  knowledge  of  natural  his 
tory  extends,  husbands  have  tongues  in  their  heads  as  well 
as  wives  ;  yet  it  is  more  frequently  remarked  of  women  than 
of  men,  that  they  are  gifted  with  this  unruly  member.  They 


338  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

certainly  do  not  enjoy  a  monopoly  of  it,  though  their  skill  in 
its  use  may  give  them  the  advantage  in  linguistic  discussion. 
Being  unable  to  convince  the  head  of  the  house  that  it  was 
his  duty  to  go  to  prayer  meeting  with  her,  she  went  without 
him.  We  have  no  report  of  the  part  she  took  in  the  meeting, 
but,  being  an  active,  energetic  sister,  who  had  walked  half  a 
mile  to  the  place,  and  was  considerably  excited  when  she 
started,  it  is  probable  that  she  exercised  her  gift  of  tongue 
according  to  her  ability  and  opportunity.  She  returned 
home,  and  Martin,  her  husband,  was  yet  at  the  neighbor's, 
visiting  his  friends.  She  might  have  called  there  and  walked 
home  with  him.  But  such  was  not  her  disposition.  She 
retired  to  their  apartment,  shut  the  door,  locked  it  and 
fastened  him  out.  What  business  had  he  to  go  out  visiting 
while  she  was  at  prayer  meeting :  she  would  teach  him  a 
thing  or  two.  In  due  time  he  came  home,  but  the  door  was 
shut.  He  could  get  into  the  hall,  but  not  into  the  room. 
He  knocked  and  called,  but  the  devout  woman  was  deaf  and 
dumb  now.  The  Calvinist  was  discomfited.  If  she  had 
argued  with  him  through  the  keyhole,  it  is  quite  likely  he 
would  have  given  up  a  point  or  two  of  his  tenets,  for  the 
sake  of  an  armistice.  But  she  scorned  to  take  advantage  of 
his  embarrassment,  and  he  made  his  way  to  the  only  refuge, 
a  miserable  garret,  where,  without  bed  or  fire,  he  passed  a 
bitterly  cold  night,  in  darkness,  silence  and  solitude.  He 
nursed  his  wrath,  and  that  may  have  helped  to  keep  him 
warm.  Down  stairs  he  came  in  the  morning,  and  the  scene 
that  ensued  when  this  loving  pair  met  at  the  fireside,  is  in 
ferred  from  the  lines  and  marks  left  upon  their  respective 
heads.  The  heads  of  argument  seem  to  have  been  these.  She 
went  for  him  and  began  to  argue  with  a  poker,  giving  him  a 
blow  over  the  left  cheek  bone  ;  and  making  so  deep  an  impres 
sion  that  the  argument  was  found  to  fit  exactly  into  the  place 
for  which  it  was  intended.  He  replied  with  a  hammer. 
Whether  he  studied  up  this  subject  in  the  midnight  medita 
tions  of  the  garret  and  came  down  prepared  for  this  new 
mode  of  answering  her,  does  not  appear,  but  he  was  ready 
with  the  hammer  and  smote  her  on  the  head  therewith,  until 


ARGUING  WITH  A  POKER  AiVD  A  HAMMER.       339 

he  supposed  he  had  finished  her.  Then  suddenly  a  great 
horror  came  on  him,  as  the  neighbors  rushed  in  and  found 
him  standing  over  the  body  of  his  wife.  He  stepped  into  the 
chamber  from  which  she  had  barred  him,  and  put  an  end  to 
his  own  life  with  a  razor. 

That  is  a  little  drama,  in  a  rural  village,  in  humble  cottage 
life,  this  winter.  But  it  is,  in  miniature,  what  has  filled  cities, 
and  lands,  and  the  world  with  violence,  woe  and  blood.  We 
are  but  learning  now  the  principles  of  toleration,  the  duty 
and  beauty  of  letting  people  have  their  own  way  of  thinking 
and  believing,  if  they  cannot  be  converted  to  a  better  way  by 
reason  and  love.  I  have  compared  notes  on  the  subject  with 
friends  of  late,  and  we  agree  in  this :  that  the  older  we 
grow,  the  more  clearly,  intelligently  and  firmly  we  hold  those 
opinions  we  have  had  from  youth  upwards,  and  the  more 
cheerfully  willing  we  are  that  others  should  hold  opinions 
opposed  to  ours.  The  importance  of  controversial  theology 
and  of  contending  earnestly  for  the  faith  is  not  questioned;  but 
the  folly  of  arguing  with  an  opponent,  disputing  with  men 
or  women  about  their  religious  belief,  and  emphatically 
getting  excited  about  it,  is  so  clear  to  me  now,  that  the  tongue 
seems  almost  as  dangerous  a  weapon  as  a  poker  or  a  hammer. 
Reason  has  far  less  to  do  with  the  guidance  of  human 
opinions  than  we  are  apt  to  admit.  Education,  feeling,  exam 
ple,  prejudice,  self-interest,  any  one  of  these  has  more  power 
with  many  persons  than  logic.  The  parent  who  lives  a  godly 
life  and  by  the  sweetness  of  his  Christian  spirit,  his  habitual 
kindness  to  companion,  children,  servants  and  friends,  illus 
trates  the  power  of  the  faith  he  professes,  will  more  surely 
convince  his  household  of  the  truthfulness  of  his  religious 
opinions,  than  he  will  by  hammering  their  heads,  or  arguing 
at  the  table  with  every  guest  who  does  not  believe  as  he  does. 
Train  children  in  the  doctrines  and  duties  of  the  gospel,  rising 
up  early  and  teaching  them,  show  their  power  in  a  holy  and 
happy  life,  patience  in  trials,  energy  in  useful  work,  and  hope 
in  the  worst  of  times,  and  children  will  not  depart  from  the 
faith  of  their  fathers. 

It  is  time  to  lay  aside  the  poker  and  the  hammer,  the  spear 


34°  1R&NJ&U3  LETTERS. 

and  the  sword :  to  hang  the  trumpet  in  the  hall  and  study 
war  no  more.  The  world's  great  conqueror  is  the  Prince  of 
Peace.  I  cannot  convince  my  neighbors  that  they  are  wrong, 
but  I  will  love  them,  if  they  love  Him  who  loves  us  both. 
Let  us  live  and  let  live.  And  so  much  the  more  as  we  see 
the  day  approaching  when  there  shall  be  neither  Greek  nor 
Jew,  neither  Barbarian  nor  Scvthian  :  for  Christ  is  all  in  all. 


ANNA  DICKINSON  ON  THEATRES. 

The  theatre  has  a  new  champion  in  the  field,  Miss  Anna 
Dickinson,  who  won  much  fame  on  the  platform  as  a  lec 
turer  and  made  a  dead  failure  as  a  player  on  the  stage.  But 
she  is  not  to  be  put  down,  and  with  a  remarkably  forgiving 
spirit,  she  has  returned  to  the  platform  to  advocate  the 
stage.  She  is  so  stage-struck  that  in  her  delirium  she  de 
clares  the  stage  more  a  power  in  the  world  than  the  press  or 
the  church.  She  takes  up  the  old  and  long  since  exploded 
doctrine,  that  the  theatre  is  a  school  of  morals,  and  upholds 
it  as  one  of- the  great  reforming  agencies  of  the  age,  and  all 
ages. 

Anna  is  behind  the  age.  All  the  world  knows  better,  and 
talks  better,  and  no  sensible  man  of  to-day  pretends  to 
defend  the  theatre  for  such  a  silly  reason  as  that. 

Alexandra  Dumas,  McCready,  Edwin  Booth,  and  such  as 
they,  know  more  about  theatres  than  Miss  Dickinson,  and 
they  tell  a  very  different  story.  Alexandre  Dumas  said  it  is 
no  place  for  our  wives  and  daughters.  He  thought  little  of 
morals  for  men,  but  as  it  is  nice  to  have  women's  morals 
kept  as  nearly  right  as  may  be,  he  would  not  have  them 
frequent  the  play.  This  was  the  ground  maintained  by  the 
great  English  actor,  McCready,  whose  rivalry  with  Edwin 
Forrest  culminated  in  the  Astor  Place  riot  of  1849.  He  pre 
ferred  that  the  ladies  of  his  family  should  not  frequent  the 
theatre,  though  thereby  he  got  his  money  and  his  fame. 


ANNA   DICKINSON  ON   THEATRES.  34* 

Edwin  Booth,  the  greatest  of  living  American  actors,  has 
recently  given  his  written  testimony  that  he  never  permits 
(Miss  Dickinson  never  permits  any  man  to  say  that  of  her) 
his  "  wife  or  daughter  to  witness  a  play,  without  previously 
ascertaining  its  character." 

I  never  come  so  near  losing  patience  with  others,  who 
have  the  same  right  to  their  opinions  that  I  have  to  mine, 
as  when  they  assume  and  assert  that  the  theatre,  as  it  is  and 
has  been,  is  worthy  of  the  encouragement  and  support  of 
good  men  and  women.  I  know  that  honorable  and  good 
men  have  said  so.  I  have  heard  preachers  plead  for  the 
theatre,  on  the  platform  surrounded  by  players.  So  1  have 
read  in  the  purest  and  best  of  the  daily  papers  sneers  at 
"  educated  persons"  who  denounce  the  theatre.  And,  at  last, 
a  woman  comes  to  the  footlights  and  declares  theatres  better 
than  churches !  ! 

Now  I  am  no  bigot,  nor  purist,  and  wish  to  have  as  wide  a 
charity  and  as  much  liberality  as  any  honest  man  should 
have.  I  do  not  quarrel  with  a  man  for  holding  conscien 
tious  convictions,  religious  opinions,  views  of  right  and  duty, 
quite  opposed  to  mine.  To  his  own  Master  he  stands  or 
falls.  I  will  dine,  as  my  Master  did,  with  publicans  and 
sinners.  And  if  good  men  will  frequent  theatres  it  is  their 
lookout :  I  do  not  criticise  them  for  so  doing.  It  may  do 
them  no  harm.  If  they  frequent  theatres,  why  may  not  1 
try  to  show  that  they  are  evil,  only  evil,  and  that  continually? 
If  Anna  Dickinson  thinks  theatres  better  than  churches,  and 
longs  to  be  a  play  actor,  which  she  never  can  be,  why  may  I 
not  quote  the  words  of  the  greatest  lady  player  of  the  Ameri 
can  stage,  Fanny  Kemble,  who  wrote  these  words : 

"  A  business  which  is  incessant  excitement  and  fictitious  emotion  seems 
to  me  unworthy  of  a  man,  a  business  unworthy  of  a  woman.  Neither  have 
I  ever  presented  myself  before  an  audience  without  a  shrinking  feeling  of 
reluctance,  nor  withdrawn  from  their  presence  without  thinking  the  excite 
ment  1  had  undergone  unhealthy  and  the  personal  exhibition  odious" 

When  she  declares  it  "a  business  unworthy  of  a  woman," 
Fanny  Kemble  utters  the  thought  of  the  purest  and  best  of 


342  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

her  sex.  When  I  was  only  ten  years  old  I  read  in  the  Latin 
of  Tacitus  that  the  women  of  Germany  were  preserved  in 
purity  and  kept  from  danger  by  being  excluded  from  theatres. 
The  evils  of  theatres  are  to  be  learned  quite  as  much  from 
Plato  and  Aristotle  as  from  the  Bible  or  any  other  book. 

Plato  says  :  "  Plays  raise  the  passions  and  pervert  the  use 
of  them,  and  of  consequence  are  dangerous  to  morality." 

Aristotle  held  that  "  the  seeing  of  comedies  ought  to  be 
forbidden  to  young  people,  until  age  and  discipline  have 
made  them  proof  against  debauchery." 

Ovid,  a  poet  so  licentious  that  we  had  expurgated  editions 
of  his  works,  advised  Augustus  to  suppress  theatres  as  a 
great  source  of  corruption. 

But  modern  theatres  are  better  than  the  ancient :  and  are 
better  now  than  they  were  twenty-five  or  fifty  years  ago. 
Just  so.  But  they  are  not  pure,  never  were  and  never  can 
be.  George  Ticknor  said  of  the  Paris  stage : 


"  The  old  French  drama  contained  often  gross  and  indelicate  phrases  and 
allusions,  but  the  tone  of  the  pieces,  as  a  whole,  was  generally  respectable. 
The  recent  theatre  reverses  all  this.  It  contains  hardly  any  indecorous 
phrases  or  allusions,  but  its  whole  tone  is  highly  immoral.  I  have  not  yet 
seen  one  piece  that  is  to  be  considered  an  exception  to  this  remark.  I  know 
nothing  that  more  truly  deserves  the  reproach  of  being  immoral  and  demor 
alizing  than  the  theatres  of  Paris  and  the  popular  literature  of  the  day." 


And  the  theatres  of  Paris  are  to-day  just  as  pure  and 
moral  as  those  of  New  York.  We  have  the  French  plays 
translated  regularly  and  put  on  our  stage,  and  the  nastier 
they  are  the  more  popular,  as  the  coffers  prove.  Even  Anna 
Dickinson,  an  unmarried  woman,  names  Camille  as  a  moral 
play ! !  !  Mr.  Palmer,  the  well  known  manager  of  the  Union 
Square  Theatre  of  this  city,  said  to  the  Tribune:  "The 
American  turns  his  back  on  the  Shakespearean  drama  in  the 
theatre,  not  because  it  possesses  too  much  thought  for  him, 
but  because  its  thoughts  are  too  nastily  expressed  to  suit  his 
civilized  taste." 

But  the  drama  of  Shakespeare  is  called  the  legitimate,  and 


ANNA   DICKINSON  ON   THEATRES.  343 

the  stage  on  which  his  plays  are  acted  is  the  model  school 
of  virtue  and  manners ! 

Miss  Dickinson  declares  the  stage  more  powerful  to-day 
in  forming  the  morals  of  the  age  than  the  church  !  So  idle 
a  remark  is  scarcely  to  be  reconciled  with  the  possession  of 
one's  senses.  The  stage  cannot  exist  except  in  large  cities. 
And  here,  in  the  largest  city  on  the  Continent,  it  could  not 
survive  a  year  but  for  the  strangers  within  our  gates.  The 
number  of  people  attending  theatres  is  a  mere  handful  com 
pared  with  those  who  go  to  church.  She  says  she  has  been 
fifteen  times  to  see  one  play.  Probably  thousands  have  done 
the  same,  and  that  shows  how  few  people  there  are  who  go. 
And  if  the  opinions  of  Plato  and  Edwin  Booth,  of  Aristotle 
and  McCready,  of  Tacitus  and  Palmer,  of  Fanny  Kemble  and 
Ovid,  are  unitedly  equal  to  the  opinion  of  Miss  Anna  Dick 
inson,  I  may  be  excused  for  believing,  in  my  innocent  igno 
rance,  that  on  the  whole  the  Church  is  rather  a  better  school 
of  morals  than  the  play-house. 

1  would  not  be  very  positive  as  to  a  fact  that  a  woman 
may  deny.  But  having  been  a  somewhat  diligent  student  of 
history,  especially  in  that  department  of  it  which  treats  of 
the  progress  of  civilization,  religion  and  morals,  through  the 
brilliant  periods  of  Grecian  and  Roman  life  and  glory,  and 
in  the  rise  of  Western  Empires  and  the  development  of 
modern  art,  science  and  humanity,  and  along  that  track  of 
time  which  has  seen  the  birth,  growth,  power,  and  benedic 
tion  of  ten  thousand  institutions  to  make  this  world  better, 
purer  and  happier,  to  relieve  human  suffering,  to  save  fallen 
men  and  women  from  the  deeper  hell  of  their  lost  name  and 
their  unspeakable  shame  ;  having  seen  in  Italy  and  in  Rus 
sia,  in  Spain  and  Egypt  even,  institutions  of  mercy  from 
which  flow  streams  to  make  glad  the  desert  of  the  world,  I 
have  observed  they  all  had  their  rise,  nourishment,  and  life 
in  the  Church.  Not  in  my  Church  only,  but  in  every  Church 
that  teaches  the  immortal  destiny  of  man  :  the  life  of  God  in 
the  human  soul !  But  never,  never  did  I  see  or  hear  of  one 
memorial  of  virtue  or  benevolence  intended  to  bless  poor, 
sick,  dying  humanity,  that  had  its  origin  in  that  boasted 


344  1REN&US  LETTERS. 

school  of  virtue,  called  the  theatre !  And  I  challenge  all  the 
champions  of  the  stage,  without  distinction  of  race,  sex, 
color,  or  previous  condition,  to  point  to  any  substantial 
good  thing  ever  wrought  by  its  influence.  I  speak  not  of 
actors,  of  whom  many  are  good,  benevolent  men  and  women. 
But  of  the  stage  as  an  institution.  As  long  ago  as  in  the 
time  of  that  poor  King  Charles  I.,  a  man  named  Prynne 
made  a  book  containing  a  list  of  authorities,  almost  every 
name  of  eminence  in  the  heathen  and  Christian  world,  bear 
ing  testimony  against  the  stage:  the  Acts  of  54  councils 
and  synods;  71  ancient  fathers;  150  Papal  and  Protestant 
authors,  philosophers  and  poets,  and  the  legislative  enact 
ments  of  Pagan  and  Christian  States,  nations,  emperors  and 
kings. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  testimonies  the  stage  lives.  Just 
as  ali  other  vices  live.  It  is  a  running  sore  in  the  bosom  of 
society.  And  sores  are  always  running.  So  long  as  human 
nature  loves  evil  rather  than  good,  vice  rather  than  virtue,  a 
lascivious  play  like  Camille,  or  a  dirty  opera  like  Travtata, 
will  have  admirers  among  the  sons  and  daughters  of  men. 
But  that  only  pro'ves  that  the  play  is  carnal,  sold  under  sm. 
It  always  was  a  school  of  vice.  The  shores  of  time  are  peo 
pled  with  the  shades  of  its  victims.  To  reform  it  is  to  break 
it  down.  Purify  the  stage,  and  as  it  falls  its  dying  cry  will 
be  the  words  of  the  greatest  master  of  the  drama :  "  FARE 
WELL  !  OTHELLO'S  OCCUPATION'S  GONE." 


OUR  FRIENDS  IN  HEAVEN. 

So  many  of  my  friends  have  recently  gone  to  heaven,  it  is 
quite  natural  that  thoughts  of  them  and  their  surroundings 
should  be  frequent.  And  certainly  they  are  very  pleasant. 
If  there  was  ever  a  time  when  religion  and  death  and  the  life 
beyond  were  subjects  of  sad  reflection,  to  be  indulged  only 
as  a  duty,  such  a  time  has  passed  away.  It  is  now  as  cheer- 


OUR  FRIENDS  IN  HEAVEN.  345 

ing  and  agreeable  to  think  of  friends  (and  the  more  loved  in 
life  the  more  pleasant)  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  heavenly 
state,  as  to  hear  from  others  travelling  in  foreign  lands, 
rejoicing  in  scenes  and  associations  that  satisfy  their  longing 
desires.  The  wisest  and  best  of  Roman  moralists  and  philoso 
phers  enjoyed  such  thoughts  of  their  friends  gone  before 
them  into  the  unseen  and  eternal,  and  they  anticipated  with 
fond  emotions  a  blissful  reunion  and  refreshment  in  the 
society  of  the  great  and  good.  And  with  life  and  immortality 
brought  to  light  by  Revelation,  what  was  to  those  ancient 
pagans  a  dreamy  speculation  scarcely  worthy  of  being  called 
a  faith,  is  to  us  reality.  Our  faith  is  the  SUBSTANCE  of  things 
hoped  for,  the  EVIDENCE  of  things  not  seen.  We  have  thus 
entered  already  upon  the  inheritance,  so  that  we  have  the  good 
of  it  and  part  of  the  glory,  as  the  heir  to  a  vast  estate  or  a 
throne  enjoys,  long  before  he  comes  into  possession,  the 
reflected  honors  and  pleasures  awaiting. 

Names  and  faces  and  forms  of  friends  who  have  within  the 
past  year  preceded  me  into  their  rest,  have  been  peopling  the 
cheerful  chambers  of  memory  this  evening.  It  is  a  rough 
night  outside,  and  the  day  has  been  a  weary  one  ;  but  now  a 
soft  fire-light  fills  the  room  and  the  study  lamp  is  shaded,  so 
that  the  silence  and  shadows  invite  converse  with  the  spirit 
ual  and  unseen.  And  the  departed  of  the  year  have  joined 
themselves  with  the  many  who  finished  their  course  before 
them,  and  are  now  in  the  midst  of  worship  and  feasts  and 
friendship  in  the  mansions  of  the  blest.  How  pleasant  their 
memories  now !  How  the  heart  gladdens  with  the  remem 
brance  of  the  joys  on  earth  and  the  hopes  of  higher  in 
heaven ! 

Just  about  twelve  years  ago  (it  was  Dec.  16,  1859)  I  had 
some  friends  at  dinner  with  me :  a  larger  number  than  are 
often  gathered  at  my  table ;  but  they  were  friends,  valued 
friends,  some  of  them  very  dear.  It  was  a  feast  of  fat  things, 
and  six  hours  flew  away  like  so  many  moments,  in  that  feast 
of  reason  and  flow  of  soul,  making  an  evening  never  to  be 
forgotten  here  or  hereafter.  And  of  that  dinner  company, 
EIGHTEEN  men  are  now  in  another  state  than  this,  their  bodies 


340  1R&NMUS  LETTERS. 

mouldering  in  the  ground,  their  souls  gone  to  God  ! ! !  Eigh 
teen  of  my  companions,  associates  in  business,  in  the  Church, 
in  public  and  private  life,  personal  friends,  eating  and  drink 
ing  with  me  in  one  company,  and  now  all  gone ! 

I  stopped  just  here  and  went  to  a  drawer  and  took  out  a 
sheet  of  paper,  on  which  is  a  diagram  of  the  table  and  the 
seat  that  each  one  occupied,  with  his  name  written  in  it.  The 
links  of  memory  are  brightened,  so  that  their  voices,  their 
pleasantries,  their  very  words  of  wit  and  wisdom,  sparkling 
and  bright,  come  flashing  and  shining,  as  on  that  glad  and 
genial  evening.  At  my  right  was  the  stalwart  Edgar  of  Bel 
fast,  and  on  my  left  the  polished  Dill  of  Derry ;  and  just  be 
yond  was  the  elegant  and  eloquent  Potts ;  and  next  to  him 
the  courtly  and  splendid  Bethune ;  S.  E.  and  R.  C.  Morse, 
three  years  sundered  by  death,  but  just  now  reunited  to  be 
sundered  never  again  ;  and  there  was  Krebs,  himself  a  host, 
my  companion  in  foreign  travel  and  a  most  delightful  friend  ; 
and  Murray,  the  "  Kirwan  "  of  the  Observer,  brightening  the 
brightest  with  the  humor  of  his  native  isle  ;  and  Cooke,  who 
was  with  me  in  Switzerland  ;  and  that  wonderful  astronomer, 
Mitchell,  who  now  looks  down  to  study  the  stars ;  and  my 
friend  Hoge,  with  love  like  that  of  woman  ;  and  my  brother, 
P.  E.  Stevenson.  [Since  I  first  wrote  these  lines,  my  guests 
have  continued  to  go  to  heaven  ;  and  I  have  now  to  add  the 
names  of  Prof.  S.  F.  B.  Morse,  J.  R.  Damson,  James  Stuart, 
Alexander  Stuart,  Joel  Parker,  D.D.,  G.  D.  Abbott,  D.D., 
John  Laidlaiv,  and  Rev.  William  Adams,  D.D.,  L.LD.] 
A  brilliant  company ;  an  acquisition  to  the  skies  ;  stars  all  of 
them ;  who  finished  their  course  with  joy,  and  then  entered 
into  the  joy  of  their  Lord.  It  would  seem  that  the  earth 
could  not  spare  all  those  men,  and  keep  right  on.  But  they 
are  in  fitting  company,  with  the  Lamb  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"  There  is  the  throne  of  David, 
And  there  from  toil  released, 
The  shout  of  them  that  triumph, 
The  song  of  them  that  feast." 

And  there  is  a  younger  company.    All  these  were  heroes 


OUR  FRIENDS  IN  HEAVEN.  347 

and  prophets  and  kings,  but  the  children  who  have  gone  up 
there  are  children  always.  O  blessed  thought !  They  were 
with  us  long  years  ago,  and  they  are  in  our  hearts  the  same 
playful  little  ones  they  were  when  the  Father  of  us  all  asked 
them  to  come  to  his  house.  And  they  are  his  children  and 
our  children  forever.  That  little  one  to  whom  David  said 
he  should  go,  is  still  the  child  of  David,  not  an  infant  of  days, 
for  there  are  no  days  nor  nights  in  heaven,  but  the  saint-child 
radiant  in  immortal  beauty. 

"  O  !  when  a  mother  meets  on  high 
The  babe  she  lost  in  infancy, 
Hath  she  not,  then,  for  pains  and  fears, 

The  day  of  woe,  the  watchful  night, 
For  all  her  sorrows,  all  her  tears, 

An  overpayment  of  delight  ?" 

Heaven's  floor  is  covered  with  them.  Of  such  is  its  king 
dom.  They  have  been  going  there — flying  before  they  could 
walk,  carried  there  by  the  angels — all  these  thousands  of 
years.  Yours  are  there.  There,  did  I  say?  We  do  not 
know  where  the  place  is,  nor  what  a  place  is  for  spirits  to 
dwell  in.  They  may  be  near  us,  around  us,  ministering  spirits 
sent  forth  to  do  us  good,  to  strengthen  us.  They,  or  thoughts 
of  them,  have  been  so  pleasantly  with  me  to-night,  that  it  is 
good  to  be  here.  It  would  be  good,  doubtless  better,  to  be 
with  them  where  they  are,  and  with  Him  who  has  them  near 
His  face.  There  is  nothing  sad,  depressing,  in  such  com 
munion.  But  it  is  getting  late.  The  fire  is  low  on  the 
hearth.  To-morrow  will  soon  be  here ;  its  duties  require 
fresh  life :  and  as  death  brings  life  eternal,  so  sleep  makes 
new  life  for  the  day  to  come. 


34^  1REN&US  LETTERS. 


WHEN  NOT  TO  LAUGH, 

Walter  Scott,  the  great  novelist  and  poet,  the  prince  of 
genial  good  fellows,  as  fond  of  humor  and  hearty  laughter  as 
any  man,  on  his  dying  bed,  said  to  his  son-in-law, 

"  Lockhart,  read  to  me." 

"  What  book  shall  I  read  ?"  asked  his  son. 

"There  is  but  one  book  for  a  dying  man,"  replied  the  poet ; 
"  read  from  the  Bible." 

Walter  Scott  was  fond  of  fun,  he  enjoyed  humor,  was  a 
splendid  story  teller ;  and  he  was  a  Christian  believer,  and 
his  inner  sense  was  enlightened  to  know  and  feel  the  fitness  of 
things,  the  proprieties  of  time  and  place.  To  ask  for  a  funny 
story,  for  something  to  make  him  laugh  when  he  was  dying, 
would  have  been  as  abhorrent  to  the  tastes  of  Walter  Scott, 
as  to  hear  a  joke  cracked  at  his  mother's  funeral. 

Rev.  Robert  Collyer,  in  a  recently  published  sermon  on 
"  Faith  and  Fear,"  closes  up  with  the  following  story  : 

Talking  the  other  day  about  some  grand,  old  saints  that  we  had  known, 
we  spoke  of  one  now  dead,  and  a  brother  said, 

"  Did  you  hear  how  he  died  ?  He  was  a  long  time  sick,  you  know,  and 
in  great  pain,  and  when  he  felt  the*  end  had  come,  he  sent  for  his  two 
sons. 

"  '  Boys,'  he  said,  '  I  am  nearly  through.  I  just  wanted  to  see  you  and 
say  good-bye.' 

"  They  sat  down  beside  his  bed,  and  then  he  said,  '  One  of  you  read  to 
me.' 

"So  one  of  them  got  the  Bible.  'Nay,  not  that,' the  old  man  said, 
quietly,  '  I  don't  need  that  now.  I  got  it  all  into  my  heart  years  ago. 
My  feet  are  planted  on  the  promises.  Everything  that  Book  teaches  for  me 
has  come  clear.  My  trunk  is  packed,  my  ticket  all  right,  and  I  am  just 
going  to  start ;  but  now  will  you  not  get  something  new,  pleasant  and 
bright  ?  I  have  had  a  hard  struggle  with  my  pain,  and  would  like  to  laugh 
just  another  time.  I  know  it  will  do  me  good. ' 

"  And  so  one  of  the  boys  got  some  bit  of  sweet  humor  and  read  that ;  and 
it  was  so,  that  while  the  light  was  shining  in  his  eyes  at  the  pleasant 
thoughts,  they  changed  and  caught  the  light  that  flashes  from  the  immanent 
glory,  and  he  was  with  the  angels." 

Grand  old  man  !     I  was  glad  to  hear  that  story.     Trunk  packed,  ticket 


WHEN  NOT   TO  LAUGH.  349 

made  out,  feet  planted  on  the  promises,  just  another  ripple  of  laughter 
after  the  hard  pain,  and  then  the  rest  that  remains. 

These  two  stories  are  in  striking  contrast.  Scott  wanted 
nothing  so  much  as  the  Bible  when  he  came  to  die.  Collyer's 
saint  wanted  no  more  of  the  Bible,  but  something  to  make 
him  laugh.  Collyer  rejoices  in  his  saint :  we  rejoice  in  the 
prince  of  novelists.  Scott's  was  the  faith  of  a  Christian : 
Collyer's  that  of  a  pagan. 

Humor  is  a  good  thing.  Fun  is  healthful.  We  do  not 
play  enough,  do  not  laugh  enough.  There  is  a  time  for  every 
thing,  and  the  wisest  of  men  has  told  us,  and  God  told  him 
to  tells  us,  "  There  is  a  time  to  laugh."  So  there  is  a  time  to 
dance,  and  a  time  to  weep,  and  a  time  to  die.  Everything  is 
beautiful  in  its  time.  The  Lord  made  it  so.  Humor  and 
pathos  have  their  dwelling  places  very  near  each  other,  and 
of  them  it  may  be  said  as  Dryden  said  of  wit  and  madness, 

"  Thin  partitions  do  their  bounds  divide." 

Or  as  Pope  said, 

"  What  thin  partitions  sense  from  thought  divide." 

And  some  men  who  are  fullest  of  tears  when  sympathy  with 
suffering  asks  for  tears,  are  also  overflowing  with  fun  and 
frolic  when  laughter  is  in  order.  I  have  a  broader  sympathy 
with  laughter  than  Pope,  who  wrote  those  familiar  lines: 

"  Eye  Nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  living  manners  as  they  rise  : 
Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can, 
But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man." 

"Alas,  poor  Yorick,"  saith  Shakespeare  in  Hamlet.  "I 
knew  him  ;  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy." 
But  I  confess  that  when  I  read  that  sentence  inscribed  upon 
a  tombstone,  as  the  best  epitaph  that  admiring  friends  could 
suggest  and  carve  for  posterity,  I  felt  that  it  were  better  to 
live  for  something  higher  than  merely  to  laugh  and  make 
others  laugh.  And  as  I  read  on  the  stone  that  memorial  of 


35°  1RENSEUS  LETTERS. 

a  man  of  wit,  I  could  not  but  recite  from  the  same  play  and 
the  same  scene,  those  other  words  of  the  greatest  of  poets : 

"Where  be  your  jibes  now?  Your  gambols  ?  Your  songs?  Your 
flashes  of  merriment,  that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar  ?" 

George  P.  Morris  was  a  poet  and  a  wit  and  a  genial  table 
companion,  and  he  wrote  of  the  Bible  in  one  of  his  songs  : 

"  In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live, 
It  taught  me  how  to  die." 

And  my  old  friend — and  the  friend  of  everybody  who  loves 
green  fields  and  running  brooks,  and  to  sit  all  day  in  the 
shade  of  great  trees,  fishing  or  reading  or  thinking — my 
friend  of  other  days,  Izaak  Walton,  said  of  the  Bible  : 

"  Every  hour  I  read  you  kills  a  sin, 
Or  lets  a  virtue  in  to  fight  against  it." 

And  I  love  old  George  Herbert  more  even  than  1  do  his 
friend  Izaak  Walton  ;  and  Herbert  writes: 

"  Stars  are  poor  books,  and  oftentimes  do  miss ; 
The  Book  of  stars  lights  to  eternal  bliss." 

That's  my  idea,  precisely.  And  when  I  come  to  die,  much 
as  I  have  enjoyed  Joe  Miller  and  Percy,  and  those  other 
benefactors  of  the  race  who  have  made  us  laugh  betimes  in 
spite  of  ourselves ;  much  as  1  am  indebted  for  health  and 
spirit  to  do  the  hard  work  of  life,  to  the  great  humorists  of 
this  and  other  days,  whose  books  are  looking  down  upon  me 
from  long  rows  of  shelves  while  I  write,  and  whose  covers 
make  me  smile  when  I  think  of  the  good  things  that  are 
within ;  yet  I  say,  when  I  come  to  die,  1  will  not  want  my 
friends  to  take  a  jest  book  or  a  comic  paper  for  a  joke  to 
make  me  laugh  as  I  step  into  the  river.  Laughing  is  very 
well  when  dining,  not  when  dying. 

"  Jesus,  the  music  of  Thy  name 
Hath  overpowering  charms ; 
Scarce  shall  I  feel  death's  cold  embrace, 
If  Christ  be  in  my  arms. 


WITH  A   PIRA  TE  IN  HIS  CELL.  35 I 

"  Then  when  ye  hear  my  heart-strings  break, 

How  sweet  the  minutes  roll, 
A  mortal  paleness  on  my  cheeks, 
And  glory  in  my  soul." 

Read  to  me  from  the  words  of  Him  who  saith,  "  He  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live." 

Collyer's  saint  would  have  something  "  pleasant  and  bright;" 
Hot  the  Bible.  If  you  would  bring  me  something  pleasant 
and  bright,  lift  the  vail  and  show  me  a  ''pure  river  of  water 
of  life,  clear  as  crystal,"  and  let  me  hear  the  voice  that  says  : 
There  shall  be  no  night  there — the  city  hath  no  need  of  the 
sun,  nor  of  the  moon  to  shine  in  it — her  light  is  like  unto  a 
stone  most  precious. 

It  seems  to  me  that  is  pleasant  and  bright.  The  best  joke 
I  ever  heard  would  not  make  me  so  happy  in  dying  as  to  hear 
my  Master's  words,  "  Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 


WITH  A  PIRATE  IN  HIS  CELL. 

Thirty-six  years  ago,  in  the  City  Prison, — called  the 
Tombs,  from  the  Egyptian  style  and  the  gloomy  look, — was 
confined  a  man  under  sentence  of  death.  He  was  a  pirate, 
bearing  the  singular  name  of  Babe.  It  was  doubtless  a  ficti 
tious  name,  but  the  public  knew  him  by  no  other. 

I  had  heard  much  of  this  pirate:  the  papers  of  the  day 
had  startling  accounts  of  his  career.  His  trial  in  this  city 
had  resulted  in  his  conviction  under  the  United  States  laws, 
and,  after  two  reprieves,  he  was  now  waiting  the  day  of  his 
execution.  He  insisted  strongly  that  he  could  produce  evi 
dence  to  establish  his  innocence  if  he  had  time  granted  him. 

Then  it  was  also  alleged  that  the  odd  name  of  Babe  con 
cealed  the  name  of  a  distinguished  family  in  New  York,  the 
mention  of  which,  even  at  this  day,  would  startle  the  hearer, 
so  well  is  it  known  to  the  religious  world.  This  fact  inten 
sified  my  interest  in  the  man,  and  I  went  to  the  prison  in  the 


352  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

hope  of  being  permitted  to  see  him,  and  to  try  to  do  him 
good. 

The  keeper  led  me  to  the  tier  of  cells,  and  the  murderers' 
row,  where  such  as  he  were  confined.  He  was  allowed  to  sit 
outside  of  his  cell,  but  was  carefully  watched  ;  and  as  I  came 
upon  the  stairs  he  rose,  entered  his  cell  and  shut  the  door. 
This  was  discouraging,  but  I  asked  the  keeper  to  go  to  the 
cell  and  say  to  him  that  "a  young  minister  would  like  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  if  it  would  be  agreeable."  The  keeper  complied, 
and  soon  returned  with  word  that  Babe  would  be  glad  to 
see  me.  I  stepped  through  the  low  portal.  He  swung  the 
iron  door  back  to  its  place  with  a  clang,  and  I  was  alone 
with  the  pirate  in  his  cell.  The  sensation  was  novel,  and 
not  pleasant.  I  had  often  conversed  with  convicts  through 
the  grating  of  the  cell  door.  I  had  taught  six  convicts  to 
read  by  giving  them  lessons  at  the  hole  in  their  cell  doors, 
and  they  had  recited  to  me  whole  chapters  of  the  gospel, 
not  a  letter  of  which  did  they  know  until  they  were  thus 
taught  in  prison.  -But  this  was  the  first  time  I  had  been 
shut  in  with  a  convict.  He  gave  me  the  only  chair,  while  he 
sat  on  the  bunk.  As  I  took  off  my  hat,  he  asked  me  to 
keep  it  on,  as  the  cell  was  cool. 

Before  me  was  a  handsome  young  man,  twenty-two  years 
old;  tall,  well  formed,  a  model  of  strong  muscular  action, 
with  a  bright  eye  and  intelligent  face,  and  his  whole  look  and 
bearing  indicated  genteel  birth  and  manners.  I  said : 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  have  not  intruded  upon  you  with  any  feel 
ing  of  idle  curiosity;  I  come  as  a  friend,  a  Christian  friend, 
to  speak  with  you  of  your  precious  soul." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  replied,  with  a  clear,  pleasant 
voice.  I  then  asked  him  what  views  he  had  of  the  future, 
when  he  thought  of  the  possibility  that  he  might,  before  a 
great  while,  be  called  into  another  state  of  being.  With 
wonderful  coolness,  indicating  total  unconcern,  he  replied : 

"  My  views,  I  suppose,  are  the  same  as  yours  or  those  of 
any  other  man.  My  mind  is  just  as  much  at  ease  as  that  of 
any  man  in  New  York,  but" — and  here  he  clenched  both 
fists  and  brandished  his  arms  while  he  said: 


WITH  A    PIRA  TE  IN  HIS  CELL.  353 

"  I  am  just  as  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which  I  am  shut 
up  here,  as  you  are,  but  I  am  pursued*  by  a  set  of  blood 
hounds  who  mean  to  get  me  hanged."  He  became  furious, 
and  I  began  to  fear  he  was  dangerous.  As  soon  as  he 
paused,  I  resumed : 

"I  did  not  come  to  make  any  inquiry  about  your  guilt  or 
innocence  of  this  particular  crime,  but  to  ask  you  if  you  have 
not  sins  to  repent  of,  and  to  be  forgiven  before  you  can  be  at 
peace  with  God,  and  be  prepared  to  die  and  meet  Him  in 
judgment." 

He  admitted  this  general  truth,  and  I  preached  Jesus 
Christ  the  only  and  the  sufficient  Saviour.  And  in  the 
midst  of  the  appeal  I  said  to  him,  looking  into  his  eye  with 
tenderness:  "You  have  parents  perhaps  living,  I  hope  pray 
ing  for  you  now,"  and  he  answered :  "  I  have  respectable 
relatives"— he  did  not  say  parents — "living  in  this  city,  but 
they  do  not  know  that  I  am  here ;  and  if  I  were  to  die 
to-morrow,  they  would  not  find  me  out." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  urged  him  to  seek  reconciliation 
with  those  who  ought  to  be  his  friends.  And  I  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  he  had  the  slightest  inclination  to 
ward  the  Saviour,  whom  I  offered  with  earnest  words  and 
prayers. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  he  was  the  unacknowledged  son 
of  a  distinguished  family,  whose  influence  with  the  President 
of  the  United  States  procured  his  pardon.  It  is  certain  that 
he  produced  no  new  evidence  of  his  innocence,  but  he  was 
set  at  liberty.  I  never  heard  of  him  again.  Perhaps,  under 
another  name,  he  resumed  his  rover-life,  and  found  his 
death  on  the  seas  or  on  the  scaffold. 

It  is  very  true  that,  in  this  gloomy  prison,  by  far  the  most 
who  enter  are  from  the  degraded,  ignorant  and  squalid 
classes.  The  slums  feed  the  prisons  and  the  poorhouses. 
But  not  all  are  the  sons  of  the  low  and  wretched.  The  hand 
somest  boy  in  college  with  me,  the  son  of  a  magistrate  of 
wealth  and  influence,  died  in  one  of  the  cells  in  this  same 
prison.  A  friend  of  mine,  a  professor  of  languages  and  a 
superior  scholar,  with  associations  as  respectable  as  any, 


354  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

died  in  one  of  the  cells  of  these  living  Tombs.  There  is  not 
a  week  in  the  year  when  there  not  some — often  there  are 
several — who  have  fallen  from  the  heights  of  good  society 
to  the  depths  of  sin,  shame,  misery  and  the  dungeon,  from 
which  the  gate  of  deliverance  is  death.  In  a  great  city  like 
this  there  are  tragedies  of  domestic  and  social  anguish  con 
stantly  in  progress.  Forty  dead  men  lay  one  morning  at 
the  Morgue  last  week,  waiting  to  be  claimed  by  friends.  No 
friends  came.  In  most  cases  death  was  a  comfort  to  survi 
vors,  and  oblivion  a  cover  of  sorrow  and  shame. 

All  this  is  to  say  that  the  gospel  ought  to  be  always  at 
work  in  this  prison.  The  Son  of  Man  came  to  seek  and  save 
the  lost.  Over  the  doors  of  Dante's  Inferno  was  written: 
"  Who  enter  here,  leave  hope  behind."  But  while  there  is 
life  there  is  hope.  No  other  name  but  Jesus  does  these 
lost  men  good.  And  that  name  can,  and  does.  While  in 
this  world  we  shall  have  constant  war  with  sin  and  misery. 
Especially  with  sin,  which  is  the  parent  of  misery.  There 
are  many  nostrums  prescribed  by  quack  doctors,  who  call 
themselves  reformers,  but  they  do  no  good.  A  drunkard 
may  be  saved  whom  God  renews  and  holds  in  his  right  hand. 
When  the  Ethiopian  can  change  his  skin  or  the  leopard  his 
spots,  then  will  he  who  has  been  accustomed  to  do  evil  learn 
to  do  well.  It  is  Christ  who  alone  is  able  to  save  unto  the 
uttermost. 

What  is  the  use  of  saying  this  over  and  over  again :  the 
same  old  story,  Jesus  and  his  blood  :  the  sinner  lost  and  the 
sinner  saved?  Well,  it  is  just  this:  life  is  wearing  along 
with  each  of  us,  and  every  day  brings  us  so  much  nearer  to 
its  end.  To  save  ourselves  and  others,  to  deliver  men  from 
the  bondage  of  sin  and  misery,  to  get  the  lost  out  of  the  mire 
of  vice  and  their  feet  on  the  Rock  of  Ages — this  is  the  great 
est  of  all  the  works  that  men  or  angels  can  do. 


A   WOMAN'S  VIEW  OF  CRIME,  355 


A  WOMAN'S  VIEW  OF  CRIME. 

The  quantity  of  nonsense  precipitated  by  the  agitation  of 
questions  of  reform  is  something  fearful.  Happy  they  who 
are  not  compelled  to  read  the  many  prescriptions  of  quacks 
and  quidnuncs  who  discover  new  theories  of  vice  and  fresh 
remedies  for  crime,  and  inflict  them  on  an  anxious  and  cred 
ulous  community.  "  The  world  is  full  of  evil,"  said  the 
poets  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  thousands  of  years  ago  the 
pen  of  infinite  wisdom  and  omniscient  penetration  wrote, 
"  the  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things  and  desperately 
wicked."  Yet  there  are  not  a  few  men  and  women,  in  these 
days  of  wonderful  light  and  progress,  who  pretend  to  find 
the  source  of  all  vice  in  bad  drainage  or  the  state  of  the 
stomach.  They  would  cure  it  like  typhus  or  ague. 

This  quackery  has  resulted  in  miserable  sympathy  for 
scoundrels  as  if  they  were  the  most  unfortunate  of  the  human 
race.  If  they  become  so  sick  as  to  commit  burglaries  or 
highway  robberies  they  are  pitied  and  petted,  coddled  and 
comforted  :  and  if  they  become  murderers  they  are  adopted 
as  children  to  be  nursed  by  women  and  soft-hearted  men, 
with  jellies  and  panada. 

One  of  the  most  active  of  these  foolish  women  has  written 
and  published  an  essay  on  prison  reform,  beginning  with 
these  words : 

"  All  crime  can  be  traced  to  ignorance,  intemperance  or 
poverty." 

The  statement  is  absurd  and  false.  Yet  a  vast  amount  of 
writing  and  talking  on  prison  and  prisoners,  crime  and  crim 
inals,  is  equally  shallow  and  mischievous.  The  three  sources 
of  crime  named  are  indeed  prolific,  but  there  are  other  and 
fearful  sources,  including  an  evil  heart,  whence  proceed  evil 
deeds,  even  murders,  and  into  these  sources  or  fountains  of 
crime,  there  does  not  enter  a  drop  of  ignorance,  intemper 
ance  or  poverty.  Men  and  women  of  education,  temperance 
and  wealth  commit  crimes.  Neither  they,  nor  their  fathers 
nor  mothers  were  ignorant,  intemperate  or  poor.  Why 


35 6  IRENMUS  LETTERS. 

then  does  a  writer  on  prison  reform  lay  down  a  rule  that  is 
instantly  disproved  when  crimes  are  traced  to  avarice,  lust, 
revenge,  ambition,  jealousy  and  pure  deviltry  ? 

At  the  very  moment  when  this  wisdom  was  being  written 
and  published,  there  were  in  this  city  and  Brooklyn  hard  by, 
a  number  of  men  under  sentence  of  death  for  murder :  the 
three  causes  of  crime  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  of  them. 
Take  Fuchs  who,  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  chopped  his  friend  into 
pieces.  Rubenstein,  the  Jew,  was  not  ignorant,  intemper 
ate  or  poor.  Neither  was  his  father.  Yet  he  enticed  his 
friend  into  a  cornfield  and  murdered  her  deliberately.  The 
Boston  murderers,  Pomeroy  and  Piper,  were  not  tempted 
or  driven  to  crime  by  any  circumstances  outside  of  their 
own  wicked  selves.  To  say,  as  this  prison  reform  woman 
does,  that  •'  all  crime  can  be  traced  to  ignorance,  intemper 
ance  and  poverty,"  is  in  the  teeth  of  that  precept  which 
reads :  "  When  lust  hath  conceived,  it  bringeth  forth  sin ; 
and  sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth  death."  That  is 
the  philosophy  of  the  whole  matter,  and  put  into  the  quaint 
words  of  the  old  English  Bible,  sounds  professional,  but 
cannot  be  made  more  impressive  or  intelligible.  A  poor 
man  takes  his  choice  to  work  or  to  steal.  He  chooses  to 
steal.  The  prison  reformer  says  "  the  cause  of  this  crime  is 
poverty."  Nonsense.  Poverty  stimulates  thousands  to  hon 
est  work.  It  is  the  cause  of  virtue  far  more  than  it  is  a 
cause  of  vice.  A  good  man  under  the  pressure  of  poverty, 
and  the  vast  majority  of  the  human  family,  depend  upon 
daily  labor  for  daily  bread,  and  are  hungry  when  they  do 
not  work.  If  poverty  was  the  cause  of  crime,  the  world 
would  be  depopulated  by  the  crimes  of  its  inhabitants. 
Ignorance  is  not  the  cause  of  crime.  Scarcely  a  sane  man 
living,  in  the  darkest  land  under  heaven,  is  so  ignorant  as  to 
commit  crime  in  consequence  of  it,  or  from  want  of  knowl 
edge  that  it  is  wrong  to  steal  and  commit  murder.  And  if 
the  entire  population  of  the  United  States  were  taught  the 
whole  circle  of  sciences  and  arts,  so  that  uneducated  men 
were  as  rare  as  angels  on  earth,  there  would  yet  be  crime. 
The  Binghamton  murderer,  Ruloff,  wag  a  prodigy  of  learn- 


A    WOMAN'S  VIEW  OF  CRIME.  357 

ing.  Dr.  Webster  was  a  Professor  in  our  oldest  University. 
Eugene  Aram  was  a  school  teacher.  And  the  ignoble  army 
of  official  rascals,  whose  thefts  in  this  city,  in  the  canal  rings 
of  the  State,  in  the  Washington  departments  and  the  County 
Treasuries,  are  not  poor,  ignorant  or  intemperate.  The 
whiskey  villains  now  in  prison,  and  the  greater  number  out, 
were  not  drunkards  on  their  own  poison,  crooked  or  straight. 
Intemperance  deprives  its  victim  of  judgment  and  con 
science,  inflames  his  passions,  until  he  is  "set  on  fire  of 
hell."  Hence  more  crimes  are  traced  to  this  than  to  any 
other  source.  But  this  is  itself  a  crime.  To  say  that  intem 
perance  causes  crime  is  merely  saying,  what  is  very  true, 
that  one  crime  causes  more.  Therefore  it  is  the  veriest 
quackery  in  reform  to  lay  it  down  as  a  great  principle  that 
"  All  crime  can  be  traced  to  ignorance,  intemperance  and 
poverty."  It  is  simply  nonsense.  Another  proposition 
equally  absurd  is  laid  down  by  the  same  writer  in  the  same 
essay.  She  says : 

"Prisoners  should  be  sentenced  until  reformed ':  not  for  ten  or  twenty 
years  with  no  regard  to  reform." 

This  folly  has  its  origin  in  the  common  blunder  of  these 
sapient  reformers  that  the  object  of  punishment  is  to  reform 
men.  That  it  is  earnestly  to  be  sought  for,  is  very  true,  but 
law  and  penalty  are  not  designed  for  the  reformation  of  the 
convict.  His  reformation  is  a  very  desirable  object,  and  all 
suitable  means  should  be  employed  for  that  purpose.  But 
law  and  penalty  are  for  the  protection  of  society,  the  preven 
tion  of  crime  and  the  just  punishment  of  criminals.  If  Win- 
slow  is  brought  back  to  Boston  and  convicted  of  his  numer 
ous  forgeries  and  sent  to  prison,  his  reformation  is  no  part 
of  the  object  in  view.  God  grant  that  the  fellow  may  be 
reformed.  But  the  object  of  the  sentence  is  to  punish  for 
gery,  restrain  pthers  from  doing  the  same,  and  so  make  it 
safer  for  men  to  rely  on  the  signatures  of  their  neighbors. 
It  was  no  part  of  the  intent  of  the  law  to  reform  Dolan  when 
it  condemned  him  to  the  gallows.  It  was  to  make  the  pen 
alty  a  terror  to  evil-doers.  Yet  the  moment  that  saw  him 


3S8  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

justly  doomed,  these  reformers  went  about  with  petitions  to 
get  his  neck  out  of  the  halter  he  so  richly  deserved. 

And  now  for  the  height  of  folly.  The  magnitude  of  the 
crime  is  not  to  be  taken  into  account  in  imposing  the  pen 
alty  !  Ten  years  or  twenty  years  are  not  to  be  a  measure  of 
what  is  due  to  the  law,  but  the  prisoner  is  to  be  sentenced 

TILL  HE  REFORMS  !  ! 

Pray  tell  us,  Mrs.  Reformer,  who  is  to  judge  of  the  pris 
oner's  reformation?  Will  you  have  a  committee  of  the 
Prison  Association  to  examine  each  convict  and  decide 
when  he  is  reformed  sufficiently  to  be  let  out  upon  society 
again  ? 

Just  imagine  Judge  Daly  on  the  bench,  pronouncing  sen 
tence  upon  a  thief  or  a  murderer  in  these  words : 

"  Patrick  O'Halligan,  you  have  been  tried  and  justly  convicted  of  a  great 
crime  :  under  the  old  law  you  would  have  been  sentenced  to  the  gallows,  or 
to  prison  for  life,  but  under  the  reformed  system  introduced  by  the  good 
women  who  now  manage  our  criminal  practice,  it  is  my  duty  to  sentence 
you  to  stand  committed  until  you  reform.  I  will  appoint  one  of  these 
excellent  women  to  take  charge  of  your  reformation,  and,  under  her  direc 
tion,  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  few  days  will  see  you  turned  out  a  reformed 
man,  fully  qualified  to  do  your  duty  as  a  good  citizen.  Begging  pardon  for 
having  detained  you  so  long,  I  now  wish  you  good  afternoon." 

And  this  stuff  is  now  the  model  talk  of  prison  reform.  It 
is  all  cant,  folly,  falsehood,  sham,  and  deserves  to  be  hissed 
out  of  philanthropic  circles.  Yet  it  is  endorsed  by  religious 
people  in  this  city. 


MINISTERS'   SONS.  359 


MINISTERS'  SONS. 

My  attention  was  recently  turned  to  the  fact  that  a  few, 
and  but  a  few,  of  the  sons  of  the  clergy,  in  the  city,  had  be 
come  ministers  of  the  gospel.  The  means  of  making  a  pre 
cisely  accurate  statement  of  the  facts  are  not  in  my  possession, 
and  the  memory  of  others  will  doubtless  retain  the  names  of 
some  that  I  have  forgotten.  Within  the  last  thirty-five  years 
I  have  known  the  sons  of  Potts,  Bangs,  Alexander,  Skinner, 
Tyng,  Hutton,  Chambers,  Newell,  Knox,  Vermilye,  who  have 
entered  the  ministry.  But  what  are  these,  added  to  those 
not  mentioned,  compared  with  the  multitude  of  fathers  in  the 
Church,  whose  sons  have  not  entered  into  their  labors,  or  the 
service  of  God  in  the  same  calling  ? 

Then  I  wrote  to  Princeton  and  asked  Dr.  McGill  to  give 
me  the  number  of  students  in  the  Theological  Seminary  there, 
whose  fathers  are  or  were  ministers,  and  he  wrote  me  :  "  As 
nearly  as  I  can  ascertain,  we  have  24  sons  of  ministers  among 
the  1 20  on  our  roll  at  present,  about  one  in  five,  a  smaller 
proportion  than  usual  here." 

A  similar  inquiry  in  the  New  York  Union  Theological 
Seminary,  brought  to  me  about  the  same  report.  To  some 
it  may  appear  that  this  is  as  large  a  number  as  might  be  rea 
sonably  expected.  The  proportion  of  ministers  to  the  whole 
population  is  so  small,  that  a  school  of  one  hundred  should 
not  perhaps  be  expected  to  contain  more  than  one-fifth  of 
its  members  of  the  families  of  one  profession.  And  it  is  not 
impossible  that  we  would  find  it  equally  true  of  the  legal  and 
medical  professions,  that  the  sons  do  not  generally  follow  the 
calling  of  their  fathers.  But  it  is  also  worthy  of  note  that 
the  work  of  the  ministry  has  an  element  in  it  that  does  not 
touch  the  call  to  any  other  profession.  While  it  is  very  true 
that  the  hand  of  God  is  to  be  acknowledged  in  every  man's 
destiny,  and  He  appoints  to  one  man  his  place,  and  to  another 
his  ;  still  we,  who  believe  in  a  divine  and  specific  call  as  part 
of  the  evidence  that  a  man  should  go  into  the  ministry,  do 


360  I  REN ;E  US  LETTERS. 

not  ask  for  such  an  indication  to  decide  that  a  young  man 
shall  go  into  trade  or  any  other  secular  calling. 

Nor  is  it  true  that  every  man  whom  God  calls  obeys.  As 
Jonah  fled  from  his  duty,  so  thousands  now-a-days  shirk 
theirs.  God  does  not  send  a  whale  to  swallow  and  save 
them,  as  he  did  in  the  case  of  Jonah;  but  we  have  known 
many  cases  in  which  they  who  have  run  away  from  the  work 
to  which  they  were  called  of  God,  have  fallen  into  worse  fates, 
and  have  bitterly  repented  their  disobedience. 

If  I  were  required  to  name  two  reasons  for  the  few  recruits 
the  ministry  gets  from  its  own  children,  I  would  venture 
upon  the  facts  that  the  sons  of  some  are  tempted  by  the 
chances  of  worldly  success,  and  the  sons  of  others  are  dis 
couraged  by  the  trials  they  suffer  with  their  fathers. 

The  temptation  is  presented  by  the  facilities  which  business 
offers  to  the  well-educated  sons  of  pastors.  Every  depart 
ment  of  prosperous  trade  in  the  hands  of  a  parishioner  is  an 
opening  for  a  promising  young  man  who  comes  with  the 
prestige  of  his  own  and  his  father's  good  name,  so  that  a 
pastor  is  not  under  the  necessity  of  seeking  long  and  anx 
iously  for  a  place  into  which  to  introduce  his  son,  but  places 
are  always  open  and  ready  for  him. 

The  trials  that  discourage  the  minister's  son  from  walking 
in  the  ways  of  his  father,  are  common  to  the  lot  of  the  larger 
part  of  the  families  whose  head  is  a  preacher  of  the  gospel. 
With  the  many,  life  is  just  a  struggle  to  make  the  two  ends 
of  the  year  meet :  old  things  must  not  be  done  away,  but  all 
things  must  be  made  as  good  as  new,  if  possible  :  and  to  take 
no  thought  for  the  morrow  when  a  flock  of  children  are  to  be 
clothed  and  fed,  requires  an  amount  of  grace  greatly  to  be 
prized,  if  it  can  be  had.  Human  nature  is  very  imperfect, 
and  it  is  not  wonderful  that  a  bright,  observant  and  thought 
ful  boy  should,  even  with  the  approbation  of  his  father,  turn 
away  from  the  service  that  seems  so  hard,  when  it  ought  to 
be  more  abundantly  alleviated  by  those  who  enjoy  it. 

It  was  never  designed  of  Christ  that  his  ministry  should  be 
a  life  of  ease,  profit  and  worldly  recompense :  but  that  is  no 
apology  for  the  meanness  of  those  who  keep  their  pastors  on 


MINISTERS'   SONS.  361 

the  shortest  possible  allowance.  I  have  known  the  children 
of  ministers  to  put  out,  like  birds  unfledged  from  the  nest, 
and,  before  they  were  fit  for  it,  to  try  to  earn  their  own  living, 
because  they  saw  their  parents  unable  to  provide  for  them 
suitable  food  and  clothing.  I  have  had,  as  a  guest  in  my 
own  house,  a  rural  pastor  seeking  his  runaway  soji,  who  had 
left  home  for  no  reason  in  the  world  but  to  cease  being  a  tax 
upon  his  overtaxed  parents.  We  may  say,  with  truth,  there 
is  no  calling  that,  on  the  whole,  yields  more  peace  and  joy 
than  the  service  of  God  in  the  pastoral  work :  but  it  is  also 
true  that  its  peace  and  joy  come  not  from  the  reward  that  is 
seen,  but  altogether  from  the  unseen  and  eternal.  The  boys 
cannot  see  it,  and  they  seek  another  sort. 

It  is  said  and  proved  and  felt  that  there  are  too  many  min 
isters,  but  it  is  not  shown  that  there  are  too  many  of  the 
stamp  the  Church  needs  and  desires  to  have.  Perhaps  there 
has  been  a  back-set  to  the  tide  that  once  flowed  in  upon  the 
ministry,  and  just  now  there  may  be  a  reluctance  to  go  into 
the  service.  But  there  is  not  now,  never  was,  never  will  be  a 
time  when  a  youth  of  fine  promise  should  be  turned  away 
from  this  work  by  the  glitter  of  any  crown  within  the  reach 
of  a  human  arm.  It  is  the  prize  of  the  highest  calling.  The 
rich  and  the  noble  of  the  earth  may  not  be  often  called.  But 
the  mother  who  dedicates  her  son  to  the  ministry  and  gives 
him  to  Christ,  prays  with  and  for  him  that  he  may  be  called, 
and  sees  him  pressing  through  hardships  and  suffering  into 
the  pulpit  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of  the  grace  of  God, 
seeks  for  him  and  gains  for  him,  a  crown  that  fadeth  not,  and 
will  one  day  outshine  the  stars. 

That  is  a  miserable  lie  which  says  that  ministers'  sons  are 
the  worst  in  the  parish.  One  prodigal  from  the  pastor's  own 
fold  makes  more  talk  than  ninety  and  nine  apostates  from 
the  rest  of  the  church.  Because  ministers'  sons,  as  a  rule, 
are  good,  the  badness  of  some  is  a  wonder  and  the  town's 
talk.  The  promise  is  to  the  believing  parent.  After  the 
fathers  shall  be  the  children.  The  sons  of  David  shall  sit  on 
his  throne.  It  is  a  kingly  honor  to  be  servant  of  the  Most 
High.  And  blessed  is  that  minister  whose  sons  are  kings. 


362  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


A  MINISTER  WHO  WAS  HUNG. 

William  Dodd  was  an  English  clergyman,  born  in  May, 
1729,  and  educated  at  the  University  of  Cambridge.  He 
married  a  woman  of  extravagant  tastes,  and  in  this  respect, 
as  in  many  others,  their  tastes  were  alike. 

After  being  ordained  he  was  made  rector  of  the  parish  of 
West  Ham,  near  London.  There  he  proved  to  be  so  elo 
quent  that  he  was  soon  called  into  the  city  and  became  one 
of  its  celebrities.  With  his  popularity  and  prosperity  he  was 
more  and  more  extravagant  and  reckless  in  his  style  of 
living.  To  meet  his  expenses  he  engaged  in  literary  work 
outside  of  his  clerical  duties ;  he  was  made  tutor  of  young 
Philip  Stanhope,  afterwards  Lord  Chesterfield :  and  at 
length  was  appointed  chaplain  to  the  King.  Chesterfield 
became  his  best  friend :  or  worst :  got  him  through  many 
troubles,  helped  him  to  money,  and  to  his  ruin,  of  course: 
for,  when  he  wanted  more  than  his  patron  would  give  him, 
he  committed  a  forgery  upon  Lord  Chesterfield  for  $20,000, 
was  tried,  convicted  and  executed.  Great  efforts  were  made 
to  save  him.  The  jury  recommended  him  to  mercy. 
Noblemen,  clergymen,  and  23,000  citizens  of  London  pe 
titioned  the  King  to  interfere,  but  the  government  declined 
to  do  so  and  the  reverend  criminal,  under  the  law  of  the 
times,  was  hanged  at  Tyburn,  June  27,  1777. 

Then,  as  now,  commercial  business,  that  exchange  which 
requires  the  constant  use  of  paper  and  signatures,  was  the 
life  blood  of  social  and  national  prosperity.  To  tamper 
with  public  confidence  in  the  bonds  of  individuals  or  cor 
porations  was  to  taint  the  blood  of  the  community,  poison 
the  springs  of  wealth,  derange  the  circulation,  and  damage 
irreparably  the  laws  of  healthful  trade.  A  forger  might 
have  personal  friends  to  intercede  for  him,  but  government 
and  society  looked  upon  him  as  a  pirate,  an  outlaw,  a  thief 
of  the  meanest  kind,  justly  meriting  the  heaviest  punish 
ment  the  laws  inflict.  It  was  therefore  held  to  be  the  duty 
of  the  King  to  interpose  no  obstacle,  but  to  let  the  law  take 


A   MINISTER   WHO   WAS  HUNG.  363 

its  course.  The  condemned  clergyman  became  very  penitent. 
His  "Thoughts  in  Prison"  and  "  Reflections  on  Death"  are 
still  extant  and  indicate  the  sentiments  of  an  educated  cler 
gyman  in  view  of  the  scaffold.  And  so  he  died. 

Even  more  emphatically  now,  than  a  hundred  years  ago, 
the  business  of  men  is  carried  on  by  the  means  of  paper,  and 
the  confidence  felt  in  the  genuineness  of  signatures  and  the 
honesty  of  transactions,  is  at  the  basis  of  daily  and  hourly 
intercourse.  We  give  and  receive  promises  to  pay,  we  make 
our  deposits  in  bank,  we  take  certificates,  bonds,  mortgages, 
relying  on  the  honesty  of  somebody,  for  not  in  one  case  out 
of  a  hundred,  in  the  affairs  of  every-day  life,  is  a  man  able  to 
go  back  to  the  original  parties,  and  know  that  it  is  all  right. 
He  takes  it  for  granted,  because  of  his  confidence  in  human 
nature  generally,  and  certain  men  in  particular.  And  this 
confidence  has  become  so  large  and  business  habits  so  loose 
in  consequence  of  it,  and  greed  has  grown  with  the  ease  of 
getting,  and  money  has  cheapened  by  its  adulteration,  as 
rags  take  the  place  of  precious  metals,  until  it  has  now 
come  to  pass  that  crimes  like  that  of  Mr.  Dodd  and  crimes 
in  the  same  line  with  his,  are  of  daily  occurrence  to  the 
ruin  of  individuals  and  of  that  trust  which  society  has  a 
right  to  feel  in  its  representative  men.  I  do  not  say  that  all 
bankruptcies  are  criminal,  though  they  are  always  failures 
to  pay  obligations  honestly  due.  They  are  oftentimes  the 
result  of  misfortunes,  the  crimes  of  others,  and  events  that 
no  human  foresight  could  anticipate.  But,  so  far  as  they 
come  from  imprudence,  recklessness,  greed,  haste  to  be  rich, 
improvidence,  inattention,  extravagance,  speculation,  or  an 
over-sanguine  temperament,  they  are  criminal  and  merit 
punishment  by  law. 

All  defalcations  are  crimes.  All  breaches  of  trust  are 
crimes.  All  uses  of  other  people's  money  without  their 
consent,  are  crimes. 

Yet  it  is  not  unusual,  in  our  times,  to  look  upon  a  de 
faulter  in  a  bank  or  counting  room,  as  a  generous  fellow, 
who  intended  to  put  back  the  money  he  stole,  so  soon  as  he 
had  made  enough  by  gambling  to  warrant  him  in  turning 


IREN^.US  LETTERS. 

himself  into  an  honest  man.  It  does  not  occur  to  me  at  this 
moment  that  we  have  punished  a  defaulter  in  this  city 
during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century.  I  have  no  doubt  there 
have  been  more  than  five  hundred  detected  in  their  crimes. 

There  is  a  law  of  the  United  States  requiring  the  publica 
tion  annually  of  the  names  of  defaulting  officers,  with  the 
amounts  they  severally  stole.  Since  1865  the  law  has  not 
been  complied  with.  It  is  a  good  law,  but  it  would  be  better 
still  to  put  the  defaulters  invariably  into  the  penitentiary. 
One  year  of  righteous  justice  would  save  the  country  mil 
lions  of  money  in  the  future. 

When  treasurers  or  trustees  are  caught  in  their  abuse  of 
trust,  they  should  be  sternly  held  in  the  hand  of  justice. 
And  there  are  men  whose  names  have  stood  high  in  the 
church  and  whose  false  pretences  have  beggared  thousands, 
yet  these  financiers  are  clothed  in  fine  linen  and  fare  sump 
tuously  every  day,  while  their  victims  are  hungry  and  cold. 
These  are  serious  matters,  and  big  with  future  ills. 

It  is  not  desirable  to  revive  capital  punishment  for  crimes 
against  property.  Let  it  be  granted  that  the  law  condemn 
ing  Dr.  Dodd  to  death  was  wrong,  and  was  wisely  modified. 
But  the  crime,  and  all  similar  crimes,  by  which  the  money 
of  others  is  taken  from  them  by  forgery,  or  defalcation,  or 
breach  of  trust,  or  carelessness,  or  deception  or  fraud,  ought 
to  be  punished  as  crime,  not  compromised,  covered  up,  ex 
cused  and  so  encouraged. 

Here  is  the  weakness  of  the  public  conscience  in  this  dawn 
of  a  new  century  of  the  Republic.  This  is  the  failing  link  in 
the  social  chain  at  the  present  day.  Men  look  upon  money 
crimes  as  venial  sins.  One  hundred  years  ago,  Tweed 
and  Connolly  and  Sweeny,  and  all  the  men  who  took  the 
people's  money  for  work  they  never  did,  WOULD  HAVE  BEEN 
HUNG  ;  Harry  Genet  and  Tom  Fields  would  have  graced  the 
gallows  (they  never  graced  anything  else).  How  is  it  now? 
It  is  impossible  to  discover  a  public  feeling  that  DEMANDS 
the  punishment  of  official  thieves.  A  hundred  years  ago  the 
men  who  let  Tweed  escape  would  have  been  hung,  by  law  or 
without  law. 


A   MINISTER   WHO   WAS  HUtfG.  365 

To  what  is  this  tending  ?  Each  advancing  year  increases 
the  desire  for  wealth,  diminishes  the  security  of  property, 
enhances  the  number,  the  pay  and  the  opportunities  of  men 
holding  judicial  places,  weakens  public  conscience  respect 
ing  stealing,  blurs  the  eighth  commandment  in  the  deca 
logue,  magnifies  the  influence  of  riches,  rewards  success  in 
getting  money  without  scruple  as  to  the  means,  and  puts 
honor  on  men  who  should  be  dressed  in  striped  woolens, 
breaking  stone  instead  of  the  laws,  in  the  prisons  of  the 
country. 

Children  in  school  and  in  the  family  should  be  taught  "it 
is  a  sin  to  steal  a  pin,  much  more  a  greater  thing."  I  do  not 
wish  to  see  the  gallows  made  the  punishment  for  stealing. 
But,  I  would  be  rejoiced  to  see  a  revival  of  common  honesty. 
Things  would  then  be  called  by  their  right  names,  and  trea 
surers,  clerks  and  trustees,  directors  and  traders,  bankers, 
and  all  who  have  the  watch  and  care  of  other  people's  money, 
would  understand  that  the  meanest  thief  in  this  world, 
meaner  than  the  sneak-thief  who  climbs  into  the  window 
while  we  are  at  dinner  and  steals,  meaner  than  the  man  who 
steals  his  neighbor's  sheep  in  the  night,  is  that  professedly 
honest  Christian  who  has  the  custody  of  another's  money 
and  puts  it  to  his  own  use,  or  the  man  who  abuses  the  con 
fidence  of  his  fellow  men  by  forgery  or  fraud. 


366  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


TORTURING  THE  LITTLE  ONES. 

Two  kinds  of  cruelty  to  children  are  so  common,  that  to 
speak  of  one  and  not  the  other,  would  leave  the  subject  half 
handled.  You  have  children  perhaps.  If  not,  your  neigh 
bors  have.  And  this  matter  of  caring  for  children  is  becom 
ing  so  much  a  matter  of  business,  that  we  have  a  Society  in 
this  city  to  prevent  them  from  being  cruelly  treated.  It  is 
an  excellent  Society.  Good  men,  and  all  sorts  of  good  men, 
favor  it.  None  but  bad  men,  and  very  bad  men,  would 
hinder  its  usefulness. 

And  the  two  kinds  of  cruelty  to  children  will  be  brought 
to  your  notice  by  the  fact  that  there  is  a  treatment  of  chil 
dren  never  complained  of  by  the  Society,  that  makes  more 
misery  to  children  and  parents  than  beatings  or  hunger. 

I  know  a  prominent  member  of  the  Society  for  the  Pre 
vention  of  Cruelty  to  Children.  He  is  the  father  of  one 
little  girl  now  about  four  years  old.  He  doubtless  loves  her 
dearly.  He  thinks  that  loving  her  is  shown  by  letting  the 
child  have  her  own  way.  She  has  it.  She  is  never  restrained, 
never  governed,  never  crossed,  always  petted,  indulged,  and 
obeyed.  The  child  rules  the  house.  Father,  mother,  ser 
vants  are  all  her  slaves.  What  comes  of  it?  Is  the  child 
happy  because  she  lords  it  over  the  whole  family  ?  So  far 
from  it,  she  cries  with  passion  or  pain  a  large  part  of  the 
time.  She  is  never  contented.  She  goes  from  one  thing  to 
another  in  a  constant  series  of  searches  for  something  to  do 
that  she  ought  not  to  do.  And  when  she  wants  what  it  is 
impracticable  to  get, — as  the  boy  who  cried  for  the  moon, — 
then  she  goes  into  tantrums  and  screams  loud  enough  to 
split  the  ears  of  the  neighbors.  Thus  the  family  are  annoyed  : 
the  neighbors  are  annoyed  :  the  child  is  wretched,  peevish, 
fretful,  impatient,  passionate,  dissatisfied  with  everything, 
and  generally  miserable. 

And  she  is  very  disagreeable.  It  was  an  ill-natured  re 
mark  of  Jerrold  to  a  mother  who  apologized  for  her  child 
crying  in  the  parlor:  "O,"  said  he,  "  I  like  to  have  children 


TORTURING    THE  LITTLE   ONES.  367 

Cry  in  company,  for  then  they  are  taken  right  out  of  the 
room."  And  whenever  I  visit  my  friend,  and  his  child  sets 
up  a  roar,  I  think  of  Jerrold,  and  wish  that  his  observation 
were  in  accord  with  my  experience,  which  it  is  not. 

But  it  is  a  most  mistaken  idea  that  indulgence  is  kindness. 
Often  it  is  the  greatest  cruelty.  To  impress  upon  a  child 
the  duty  of  obedience  is  the  first  of  all  lessons.  It  may  be 
taught  before  the  child  is  a  year  old ;  and  without  a  blow,  or 
the  infliction  of  any  physical  pain.  It  must  be  taught  in 
very  early  life,  or  it  will  never  be  learned.  To  neglect  it, 
and  to  put  off  government,  until  the  child  is  old  enough  to 
be  reasoned  with,  is  cruel,  wicked  and  silly.  This  neglect 
makes  infancy  and  childhood  a  season  of  suffering,  sows 
seeds  of  misery  in  after  life,  and  perhaps  of  ruin  here  and 
hereafter. 

Dr.  Adams  said  that  parental  government  is  the  corner 
stone  of  civil  government.  And  when  I  see  the  streets  of  a 
great  city  thronged  at  night  with  wrecks  of  young  men  and 
young  women,  whose  steps  already  take  hold  on  hell,  I  know 
that  most  of  them  are  the  victims  of  parental  indulgence. 
They  come  from  households  where  parents  let  them  have 
their  own  way,  when  they  should  have  been  governed.  Read 
the  story  of  Eli  and  his  sons,  and  tremble  as  you  read. 

If  we  must  have  a  Society  for  every  thing, — and  we  have  a 
new  one  every  year — let  it  be  an  "  Anti-letting-children- 
always-have-their-own-way  Society."  It  will  be  a  mercy  to 
the  children.  Many  will  be  saved  from  tears  and  groans 
and  cries,  by  being  "  made  to  mind,"  and  some  will  be  kept 
from  that  place  of  torment  where  weeping  and  wailing  have 
no  end.  Indulgence  in  wrong  is  the  gravest  cruelty  to  a 
child.  I  wish  the  new  Society  would  go  for  its  own  mem 
bers  who  ruin  their  children  as  Eli  did.  He  fell  over  and 
broke  his  neck  when  he  heard  that  his  boys  were  killed,  for 
he  knew  that  their  sad  end  was  his  fault.  So  it  will  be  your 
own  fault,  if  your  children  perish  through  your  neglect  to 
govern  them  when  they  ace  in  tender  years. 

That  is  one  kind  of  cruelty.     Now  for  the  other. 

A  few  days  ago,  a  teacher  in  a  public  school,  to  punish  a 


3^8  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

child,  lifted  him  by  the  ears,  dropped  him,  lifted  him  again 
and  again  and  dropped  him,  till  the  child  was  seriously,  per 
haps  fatally,  injured.  I  have  seen  a  lady  lifting  a  child  by 
the  ears  and  carrying  it  out  of  a  room  to  punish  it  for  some 
trifling  offence.  We  are  shocked  and  disgusted  by  the 
recital  of  brutalities  inflicted  on  children  by  their  drunken 
parents  or  infuriated  teachers ;  but  it  is  quite  probable  that 
the  amount  of  cruelty  by  in  judicious  and  respectable  parents, 
under  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  far  exceeds  the  crimes  of 
the  ignorant  and  intemperate.  Many  parents  box  the  ears 
of  children, — striking  them  a  square  blow  on  the  side  of  the 
head, — a  dangerous  and  wicked  punishment.  The  sudden 
compression  of  the  air  within  the  ear  is  very  apt  to  be  inju 
rious,  and  the  shock  to  the  brain  is  perilous  to  the  intellect. 
The  injury  may  not  be  perceived  at  the  time,  but  the  founda 
tion  of  future  and  unspeakable  suffering  and  sorrow  may  be 
laid  by  one  inconsiderate  blow  on  the  temple  of  a  child. 
More  common  than  this,  and  equally  cruel,  is  the  practice 
of  pulling  the  ears  of  children,  the  most  common  mode,  with 
some  parents,  of  punishing  their  own  children.  Teachers 
sometimes  hold  a  child's  ear  while  he  is  reading,  and  pinch 
or  pull  it  at  every  blunder,  thus  hoping  to  keep  the  child's 
attention  fixed  for  fear  of  the  pain.  A  worse  mode  could 
not  be  adopted,  for  the  child's  mind  is  diverted  to  the  dan 
ger  and  from  the  lesson,  and  so  he  stumbles.  Such  parents 
and  teachers  deserve  corporal  punishment  themselves.  The 
delicate  organism  of  the  human  ear  requires  the  most  gentle 
handling,  and  to  treat  it  as  a  mere  cartilage  to  be  pulled  for 
the  purpose  of  punishing,  is  a  piece  of  inhumanity  that 
reason  forbids  and  religion  condemns.  Some  parents  send 
their  children  into  a  dark  closet  where  they  are  in  terror  of 
imaginary  goblins.  Perhaps  this  is  not  as  common  as  it  was 
fifty  years  ago,  but  it  is  not  out  of  use.  It  is  not  unfre- 
quently  the  cause  of  idiocy  or  insanity,  and  no  judicious 
parent  will  permit  it  to  be  practiced  in  his  house.  Nurses 
often  frighten  children  with  tales  of  terror,  threats  of  bears 
and  big  men,  to  carry  them  off.  A  nurse  detected  in  such 


TORTURING  THE  LITTLE  OttES.  369 

crimes  should  be  discharged  before  night.  She  cannot  be 
cured.  And  she  must  not  be  endured. 

Cruel  and  unusual  punishments  are  forbidden  by  human 
law.  It  is  wonderful  that  parental  instincts  and  human  love 
are  not  strong  enough  to  restrain  the  hand  of  fathers  and 
mothers  from  hasty,  passionate  and  intemperate  violence  on 
their  own  flesh  and  blood.  A  father  vents  his  impatience 
on  the  son  of  his  affections.  A  mother  worn  with  care, 
wanting  to  read  her  novel  or  go  to  sleep,  beats  her  babe  to 
make  it  quiet.  But  a  parent  or  teacher  should  never  punish 
a  child,  in  heat  or  with  sudden  violence.  Such  punishment 
has  no  moral  force  in  it.  The  calm,  judicial,  righteous 
judgment  is  as  needful  in  the  infliction  of  pain  upon  an  err 
ing  child,  as  in  the  sentence  of  a  prisoner  at  the  bar.  If  you 
cannot  govern  yourself,  you  are  quite  unfit  to  govern  chil 
dren,  and  if  you  strike  a  child  in  haste  or  under  excitement, 
you  deserve  to  be  whipped  yourself. 

Is  the  rod  to  be  abolished,  and  would  we  condemn  the 
punishment  of  children  when  they  do  wrong  at  home  or  in 
school  ?  So  far  from  it,  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  is  wisdom 
yet.  To  deny  the  right  and  duty  of  punishing  disobedient 
children,  is  logically  to  overturn  the  government  of  man  and 
of  God.  And  as  obedience  in  society  is  in  order  to  the 
highest  happiness  of  the  community,  so  in  the  family  those 
children  are  the  happiest  who  are  taught  and  required  to 
obey.  Scolding  will  not  make  them  obedient.  Fretting 
makes  them  worse.  Harshness,  severity,  cruel  pains,  loud 
words,  and  hasty  blows  are  all  wrong.  But  an  even  temper, 
inflexible  purpose,  unyielding  to  the  entreaties  of  the  child 
who  wishes  to  do  wrong ;  these  are  virtues  that  dwell  in 
every  right  mind,  and  will  regulate  the  government  of  every 
well-ordered  house. 


37°  IREN&US  LETTERS. 


MILK  AND  WATER. 

Our  good  people,  in  this  unhappy  city,  are  afflicted  with  all 
sorts  of  impostors,  swindlers,  thieves,  robbers,  and  even  mur 
derers.  Among  them,  perhaps,  the  sellers  of  impure  milk 
are  as  bad  as  any.  We  think  of  milk  as  the  natural  food  of 
our  little  ones,  and  when  they  imbibe  a  cup  of  the  whole 
some  fluid,  we  imagine  it  will  do  them  good.  So  it  would, 
if  what  is  called  milk  were  milk. 

It  is  an  emblem  of  the  best,  even  of  heavenly  food.  The 
"sincere  milk  of  the  Word,"  we  are  told,  should  be  "de 
sired,"  as  if  we  were  "new-born  babes,"  that  we  "  may  grow 
thereby."  But  it  must  be  "sincere"  milk;  that  is  pure, 
sine  cera,  without  wax,  as  pure  honey  is  sincere.  If  the 
Word  has  a  mixture  of  error  in  it,  the  hearer  will  not  "  grow 
thereby:"  it  will  do  him  no  good,  perhaps  will  be  the  death 
of  him.  So  the  milk  we  buy  at  our  doors  and  use  for  our 
selves  and  families,  must  be  sincere  milk,  pure,  without 
adulteration,  or  it  will  not  answer  the  purpose.  And  this  is 
what  we  have  had  some  lawsuits  about  lately. 

Our  Board  of  Health  has  been  putting  its  fingers  into  the 
milk  cans  with  some  good  results.  Having  been  provided 
with  a  milk-tester,  called  a  lactometer,  they  have  an  easy 
method  of  finding  out  whether  milk  is  mixed  with  water  or 
not.  It  is  a  better  test  than  a  great  institution  used  in  this 
city  thirty  years  ago.  Premiums  were  offered  for  the  best 
quality  of  milk,  and  the  farmers  and  dairymen  from  all  the 
country-side  round  about  New  York,  came  in  with  their  milk 
pans,  and  set  their  milk  for  the  judges  to  test  and  taste.  The 
judges  would  not  rely  on  their  tasting  faculties,  preferring  to 
employ  them  on  liquids  whose  qualities  they  were  more 
familiar  with  than  milk.  But  they  had  a  lactometer,  an  in 
strument  marked  with  degrees  like  a  thermometer,  and  this 
was  to  sink  into  the  milk,  more  or  less  according  to  the  rich 
ness,  thickness,  creaminess  of  the  milk.  That  is,  as  milk 
yields  cream,  and  cream  is  more  solid  than  milk,  these  "wise 
men  of  Gotham,"  whose  fathers  ''went  to  sea  in  a  bowl," 


MILK  AND   WATER.  371 

supposed  that  the  milk  which  had  the  most  cream  in  it,  is  of 
course  the  richest  and  best.  The  lactometer  would  there 
fore  sink  only  a  little  way  int.o  it,  being  buoyed  up  by  the 
thickness  of  the  liquid  ;  while  in  the  lighter  quality  it  would 
sink  down  freely  to  a  deeper  depth.  On  this  principle  the 
premiums  were  awarded.  After  it  was  all  over,  and  the 
happy  farmers  and  the  disappointed  ones  had  gone  back  to 
their  cows  and  corn,  it  was  discovered  by  some  intermed 
dling  philosopher  that  cream  rises  to  the  top  because  it  is 
lighter  than  the  rest  of  the  milk,  and  of  course  that  the  milk 
with  most  cream  in  it  is  lighter  than  milk  with  less  cream, 
and  the  premiums  had  been  given  to  the  poorest  milk,  and 
the  best  had  been  condemned  as  the  worst!  So  much  for 
the  decision  of  judges  who  knew  nothing  of  what  they 
judge.  Yet  they  were  as  wise  as  the  New  York  lady  who 
dismissed  her  milkman  ^because,  as  she  told  him,  "when  the 
milk  stood  over  night,  a  nasty  yellow  scum  rose  on  the 
surface." 

But  the  tastes  of  city  people  have  improved.  The  women 
generally  know  that  the  "  nasty  yellow  scum,"  on  the  sur 
face  of  milk,  is  cream,  and  the  cream  is  the  very  cream  of 
the  milk.  The  progress  of  ideas,  the  march  of  knowledge 
and  the  improvement  in  the  modes  of  education,  are  illus 
trated  by  the  following  fact.  A  little  girl  in  this  city, 
received  among  her  last  Christmas  toys,  the  present  of  a 
baby  churn,  holding  about  half  a  pint.  Getting  this  quan 
tity  of  milk  she  churned  away  steadily  until  she  "  made  the 
butter  come,"  and  at  tea  the  wonderful  pat  was  displayed  and 
eaten  in  triumph  by  the  admiring  house.  So  you  see  that  in 
the  city  we  are  learning  to  do  our  own  work,  and  if  we  can 
not  have  good  butter  sent  in,  we  will  set  the  babes  to  make 
it,  and  we  will  keep  our  own  cows  too. 

Our  Board  of  Health  have  been  pursuing  the  milkmen 
with  some  small  degree  of  vigor.  Eight  of  them  were 
arraigned  under  the  law  to  prevent  the  adulteration  of  things 
sold.  These  milkmen  are  not  those  who  drive  about  the 
streets  in  the  morning,  usually  so  early  as  to  wake  you  up  at 
an  untimely  hour,  or  so  late  as  to  make  you  wait  half  an 


372  IREN^US  LETTERS. 

hour  after  time  for  breakfast.  Whenever  did  a  milkman  or 
a  breadman  come  at  the  right  time  ? 

The  breadmen  are  the  more  irregular  of  the  two,  and  this 
reminds  me  of  one  in  Philadelphia.  He  was,  as  usual, 
dashing  madly  through  the  streets  when  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Chapman  was  about  to  cross.  The  breadman  saw  the  Doc 
tor,  halted  his  horse  suddenly  and  let  him  pass.  The  Doc 
tor  bowed  and  said,  "  You  are  the  best  bred-man,  in  town." 

Milk-dealers  keep  the  article  in  shops  for  sale  to  customers 
who  call  for  it.  They  are  supposed  to  have  regular  supplies 
from  the  country.  Some  of  them  do,  But  the  milky  way  is 
a  great  mystery.  It  was  proved  upon  a  trial,  not  long  since, 
that  after  the  milk  cans  are  put  upon  the  rail  cars  up  in  the 
country,  (how  much  water  is  put  into  the  cans  with  the  milk 
before,  was  not  shown)  the  men  on  the  cars  help  themselves 
to  the  milk  at  their  pleasure,  supplying  the  vacancy  with 
water.  On  its  arrival  at  the  city,  the  cans  are  conveyed  by 
wagon  to  the  dealer,  and  on  the  way  thither  the  driver  takes 
out  what  he  wants  and  fills  up  with  water,  which  he  carries 
in  pails  under  the  seat  for  the  purpose,  and  finally  the  liquid 
reaches  the  shop  of  the  retailer,  who  again  waters  it  to  suit 
his  views  of  trade  and  duty  to  himself  and  customers. 

These  last  are  the  gentlemen,  eight  of  whom  were  brought  to 
trial  on  the  charge  of  selling  adulterated  milk.  One  of  them 
was  arraigned  and  his  was  made  a  test  case.  The  lactometer 
was  the  principal  witness.  Would  it  lie  ?  Could  it  be  made 
to  tell  the  truth  ?  Its  capacity  and  its  credibility  were 
challenged.  Experts  were  called  in  and  put  on  the  stand. 
Now  these  experts  are  becoming  a  very  important  and  dan 
gerous  set  of  men.  Every  man's  life  may  be  in  the  hands  of 
experts.  Is  this  your  handwriting  ?  You  say  No,  and  up 
rises  an  expert  and  swears  that  he  can  tell  to  a  dead  certainty 
whether  the  handwriting  is  yours  or  not :  he  is  an  expert. 
Your  testimony  is  of  very  little  account,  for  though  you  may 
know,  yet  as  you  are  not  an  expert  and  the  other  man  is,  you 
may  find  yourself  in  State  prison  for  forgery  because  an 
expert,  knows  more  than  you  do.  And  men  do  not  always 
know  their  own  signature.  Some  years  ago  an  excellent 


MILK  AND    WATER.  373 

Christian  citizen  was  charged  with  forgery.  The  banker  who 
accused  him  of  forging  his  name,  was  handed  in  the  court 
room,  on  the  trial,  a  piece  of  paper  with  his  own  name  on  it, 
and  he  was  asked  if  that  was  his  signature.  He  said  it  was : 
examined  it  carefully  and  swore  positively  to  it.  Then  three 
men  rose  up  and  made  oath  that  one  of  their  number,  in  the 
presence  of  the  other  two,  wrote  that  signature  on  that  table 
a  few  moments  before,  and  did  it  to  confound  the  banker. 
He  acknowledged  his  error,  was  at  once  convinced  that  he 
had  wrongfully  accused  his  neighbor,  withdrew  the  charge, 
paid  the  costs  and  sought  to  repair  the  injury  he  had  done. 
But,  if  my  memory  be  correct,  the  good  man  died  from  the 
effects  of  the  injurious  charge. 

But  we  neglect  these  milkmen.  Experts  proved  that  the 
lactometer  was  infallible  as  a  test  of  the  presence  of  water  : 
the  more  water  the  deeper  it  would  sink.  It  is  made  to 
stand  at  100  degrees  in  ordinarily  good  milk  :  one  Alderney 
cow's  milk  registered  112  and  another  120.  That  was  rich 
milk.  Mr.  Starr's  cows,  at  Litchfield,  gave  milk  so  rich  that, 
in  pails  1 5  inches  deep,  the  cream  stood  four  inches  thick.  If 
the  lactometer  sinks  below  100,  it  shows  the  presence  of 
water.  The  milkman's  milk  on  trial  registered  80:  he  was 
convicted  and  fined  $100;  the  others  owned  up  and  were 
let  off  on  paying  $50  each.  So  the  lactometer  and  the 
experts  were  sustained,  and  the  wicked  milk-dealers  came  to 
grief. 


374  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 


MY  VINE:  MY  POOR  VINE! 

The  first  house  I  ever  owned  was  in  Newark,  N.  J.  With 
the  house  was  a  garden,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  garden 
stood  an  arbor,  and  that  arbor  was  covered  by  an  Isabella 
grape  vine,  and  of  that  vine  is  this  story. 

As  the  vine  was  the  crown  of  the  garden,  I  employed  an 
experienced  vine  dresser,  at  the  proper  time  of  the  year,  to 
prune  it  properly  and  put  it  in  perfect  order  for  the  opening 
spring.  A  few  days  afterward,  an  amateur  gardening  friend, 
one  who  prided  himself  in  knowing  all  about  plants,  from 
the  cedars  of  Lebanon  to  Isabella  grape  vines,  came  to  see 
me,  and  my  new  place.  He  was  delighted ;  but  as  he  ap 
proached  the  central  beauty,  he  remarked  with  great  wis 
dom  :  "  This  is  a  very  fine  vine,  but  you  ought  to  have  had 
it  trimmed !" 

This  was  discouraging  indeed :  but  for  the  humor  of  the 
thing,  I  said,  "You  know  so  much  more  of  this  than  I,  per 
haps  you  would  like  to  trim  it  ?" 

He  sprang  to  the  work,  as  if  it  were  play,  whipped  out  his 
jackknife,  which  he  always  carried  to  execute  everything 
he  could,  and  at  it  he  went,  cutting  off  all  the  wood  he  could 
find. 

Sure  that  my  precious  vine  was  spoiled,  I  hailed  without 
further  fear  a  visit  from  another  friend  and  relative,  who  had 
great  contempt  for  my  knowledge  of  worldly  affairs :  we 
walked  in  the  garden,  and,  entering  the  arbor,  he  said,  '  You 
should  have  had  this  vine  trimmed — you  never  did  know 
enough  to — " 

I  checked  him  with, — "  You  always  save  me  the  trouble, 
wouldn't  you  just  go  over  it  now;  here's  a  knife."  He  took 
it  fondly  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  step-ladder,  the  old  gentle 
man  went  through  it,  and  left  it  as  naked  as  Wolsey  was 
when  the  king  deserted  him.  Now  my  poor  vine  was 
certainly  safe  from  further  excision.  But  a  week  and  an 
other  visitor  came  to  my  vineyard.  He  was  from  the  north 
ern  part  of  New  York,  and  did  not  realize  the  lateness  of  the 


MY   VINE:    MY  POOR   VINE!  375 

season  :  it  was  April  with  us  in  New  Jersey :  he  admired  my 
new  home,  and  when  we  came  to  the  vine,  so  trim  and  clean 
and  clear,  I  waited  for  his  pleased  expression;  but,  to  my 
dismay,  he  exclaimed  : 

"You  have  forgotten  to  have  it  trimmed:  it's  a  splendid 
vine :  it's  late  to  be  sure,  but  not  too  late  to  trim  it  yet." 

Having  given  up  all  hope  of  fruit  from  it,  after  its  previous 
mutilations,  I  was  quite  careless  about  its  fate  and  remarked  : 
"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  try  your  hand  on  it :  here  is  an 
excellent  knife." 

He  seized  it  with  evident  pleasure,  plunged  in  medias  res 
instanter,  and,  in  the  course  of  thirty  minutes,  managed  to 
amputate  every  bough  of  promise  that  had  dared  to  make  its 
appearance  on  the  vine  of  my  affections.  The  work  of  ruin 
was  complete.  The  vine  was  barren  that  year.  Next  year 
perhaps  a  little  better,  but  it  never  recovered  the  shock  of 
those  untimely  wounds.  My  folly,  in  letting  these  quacks 
doctor  my  darling,  was  punished  by  its  destruction.  Often, 
when  too  late,  I  regretted  that,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  to  what 
length  ignorance  and  self-conceit  would  go,  I  permitted  these 
good  friends  to  meddle  with  matters  too  high  for  them  and, 
like  the  little  foxes  in  the  song  of  songs,  to  spoil  my  vine. 

Every  man  to  his  own  business.  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam, 
Let  the  cobbler  stick  to  his  last.  "  Study  to  be  quiet  and  to 
doyour  own  business"  is  a  divine  command,  and,  like  all  in 
structions  from  the  same  source,  is  full  of  common  sense. 

The  church  and  the  world,  religion  and  business,  are  dis 
turbed  and  annoyed  and  sadly  injured,  like  my  garden,  with 
amateurs,  pretenders,  quacks:  men  who  have  new  and  im 
proved  methods  of  doing  what  was  well  enough  done  before, 
but  which  they  would  do  with  patented  processes  peculiar 
to  themselves,  and  a  vast  improvement  upon  everything  that 
has  gone  before.  My  study  is  strewed  with  patent  venti 
lators.  Every  autumn  a  new  man  appears  with  a  queer 
shaped  instrumentality,  and,  casting  his  eyes  upwards  at  my 
windows,  he  says :  "  I  see  you've  got  one  of  them  old-fashi 
ioned  ventilators  into  there  :  it  'taint  no  good,  is  it  ?" 

"  No,  it's  good  for  nothing :  better  out  than  in." 


37<5  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

"Wall,  now  you  see  here's  the  thing  to  do  it :  I  put  one  of 
these  'ere  traps  up  to  the  top  and  tother  into  the  bottom  of 
the  winder :  and  the  wind  comes  whizzin  in  to  one  and  goes 
out  tother,  and  so  keeps  it  fresh  and  kind  o'  breezy  like  all 
the  time :  'spose  you  try  "em." 

I  consent,  and  he  goes  at  it  with  a  will.  He  pulls  out  the 
old  ones :  puts  in  his :  and  the  next  fall,  perhaps  the  next 
month,  another  man  comes  along  with  a  new  patent  venti 
lator  and  wants  to  try  it.  He  tries  it.  It  is  very  trying  to 
me,  but  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  foolish  experiments  fail  is 
the  compensation.  They  are  all  equally  bad. 

The  same  quackery  succeeds  in  trade,  in  finance,  in  medi 
cine,  in  the  Church.  We  live  in  cycles,  circles  ;  what  things 
have  been  shall  be,  and  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun. 
Yet  the  world  moves.  Progress  is  made  because  good  begets 
good  and  truth  is  fruitful.  Conservatism  holds  fast  that 
which  is  good,  and  with  it  works  onward  to  the  overthrow 
of  evil.  Radicalism  is  too  impatient,  rushes  ahead,  generally 
knocks  its  head  against  the  wall,  and  would  dash  its  brains 
out,  if  it  had  any.  Even'  the  goose  that  laid  golden  eggs,  one 
a  day,  was  less  of  a  goose  than  the  radical  who  killed  her  to 
get  all  the  eggs  at  once. 

One  of  the  best  books  might  be  made  by  writing  the  biog 
raphy  of  defunct  theories  in  science.  Men  have  received  as 
settled  truths,  vast  systems  of  astronomy,  chemistry  and  ge 
ology,  that  are  now  exploded.  Yet  while  those  sciences  were 
the  faiths  of  the  day,  it  was  quite  as  much  as  a  man's  repu 
tation  was  worth  to  teach  otherwise.  And  to  this  day  no 
man  lives  who  knows  what  electricity  is,  or  how  the  thing 
works.  These  facts  ought  to  make  men  modest,  self-dis 
trusting,  and  backward  about  coming  forward,  when  they 
don't  know  what  they  are  about. 

"  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread," 

and  many  men  are  ready  to  try  their  hands  at  trimming 
other  people's  grape  vines,  when  the  regular  vine  dresser  has 
already  done  his  duty  well. 

So  in  the  Church.     With  the  fullest,  simplest  and  most 


WHITE  AND    YELLOW  MEETING  HOUSES.     377 

beautiful  instructions,  the  Church  goes  on  from  age  to  age, 
the  comfort  and  salvation  of  all  who  will  rest  under  the 
shadow  of  her  wings.  And  every  now  and  then  some  new 
light  arises,  with  a  patent  right  for  explaining  the  rules,  and 
a  new  way  of  saving  souls.  I  would  let  a  man  trim  my  vine 
if  he  really  wanted  to,  whether  he  knew  anything  about  it 
or  not ;  but  to  work  in  the  vineyard  which  the  Lord  has 
given  me  to  keep,  a  man  must  be  thoroughly  furnished, 
and  have  the  proofs  of  his  skill,  or  he  can't  come  in. 


THE  WHITE  AND  THE  YELLOW  MEETING 
HOUSES. 

The  Old  White  Meeting  House,  in  Cambridge,  N.  Y.,  was 
the  church  of  the  regular  line  Presbyterians,  of  whom  my 
father  was  the  pastor.  The  Yellow  Meeting  House  held  the 
Scotch  Presbyterians,  of  the  sub-division  known  as  Anti- 
Burghers,  whose  pastor  was  a  noble  son  of  Scotland,  Alex 
ander  Bullions,  D.D.  He  and  my  father  were  the  warmest 
of  friends  six  days  in  the  week,  yes,  and  seven,  but  the  Jews 
and  Samaritans  had  more  dealings  together  than  did  these 
two  friends  and  their  people  on  the  first  day  of  the  week. 
This  bothered  me  when  a  boy,  and  it  has  not  become  a  whit 
more  intelligible  since. 

Dr.  Bullions  and  my  father  were  splendid  classical  scholars, 
and  they  would  spend  long  winter  evenings  over  Greek 
verbs  and  Latin  prosody,  disputing  each  other  with  imper 
turbable  good  nature,  and  making  the  low-roofed  cottage 
ring  with  their  uproarious  laughter  when  one  got  the  other 
fairly  on  the  hip  in  a  philological  wrestle.  They  formed  a 
club  of  four  or  five  rural  pundits,  meeting  once  a  week  to 
read  Latin  and  Greek  and  quarrel  about  it.  Dr.  Watts' 
dogs  did  not  more  delight  to  bark  and  bite,  than  these  men 
did  to  get  their  teeth  into  one  another  on  the  pronunciation 
of  a  vowel  or  the  inflection  of  a  doubtful  syllable.  Dr.  Mat. 
Stevenson  was  one  of  them  :  a  physician  and  scholar.  Also 


378  IRENSEUS  LETTERS. 

Scotch.  Very  much  set  in  his  way.  They  were  discussing 
the  difference  in  meaning  of  gens  and  natio.  Dr.  S.  stood 
out  boldly  against  all  the  rest ;  till  one  of  them  bluntly  said 
to  him, 

"  You  are  the  most  obstinate  man  I  ever  ^Vf  see." 

"  I  am  not  obstinate,"  replied  Dr.  S.  "  I  always  give  up  as 
soon  as  I  am  convinced." 

How  many  just  such  pliable  people  I  have  met  since  ! 
Sometimes  I  think  we  all  have  a  touch  of  the  slme  openness 
to  conviction.  But  I  was  speaking  of  these  ministers  and 
their  people.  Into  the  mysteries  of  the  diversities  of  the 
numerous  Presbyterian  bodies  and  souls,  my  studies  in  the 
refinements  of  ecclesiastical  history  were  never  carried  so  far 
as  to  enable  me  to  mention  them  without  reference  to  book. 
One  of  my  associates  in  the  office  belonged  to  one  of  the 
minor  sub-divisions  of  the  Scotch  churches,  and  whenever  I 
have  occasion  to  state  the  difference  between  Burgher  and 
Anti-Burgher,  Seceder,  Associate,  Reformed,  Covenanters, 
Cameronians,  etc.,  I  ask  him,  he  tells  me,  I  write  it,  forget  it, 
and  ask  him  again  the  next  time.  But  this  I  know,  that  no 
warmer  friends  ever  lived  than  the  pastors  of  those  two 
Presbyterian  churches,  in  the  White  and  the  Yellow  meeting 
houses,  albeit  the  views  of  the  Scotch  Doctor  were  such,  or 
rather  the  rules  of  his  kirk  were  such,  that  he  and  his  people 
had  no  church  fellowship  with  the  pastor  and  people  in  the 
old  White  church. 

The  Scotch  minister  was  not  half  as  set  in  the  old  way  as 
his  people.  He  was  intensely  Scotch  in  his  brogue,  so  much 
so  that  it  was  hard  for  me  to  understand  him  when,  at  the 
school  examinations,  he  would  call  out,  "  Wull,  mawster 
Sawm,  wot  part  o'  verb  is  thot  ?"  But  he  was  so  full  of 
genial  good  humor,  so  social  in  his  nature,  liberal,  learned, 
large-hearted,  loving,  that  he  could  not  be  kept  in  the  strait 
jacket  of  any  school  but  that  of  the  one  Master.  His  people 
quarrelled  about  the  psalm  singing  :  some  claimed  that  only 
one  line  should  be  given  out  at  a  time,  and  others  demand 
ing  that  two  should  be  read  and  then  sung.  He  pre 
vailed  with  the  Presbytery  to  tell  them  it  was  of  no  impor- 


WHITE  AND    YELLOW  MEETING  HOUSES.    379 

tance  either  way.  But  more  serious  was  the  trouble  when 
he  preached  before  the  Bible  Society  immediately  after  one 
of  the  hymns  of  the  late  Isaac  Watts  had  been  sung !  For 
this  he  was  accused,  as  of  a  crime,  and  brought  before  the 
judges.  He  asked  "  how  long  a  time  should  elapse,  after  a 
hymn  had  been  sung,  before  it  would  be  fit  for  him  to  preach 
in  the  same  house."  I  forget  what  was  the  result  of  this  dis 
cussion.  But  one  thing  led  to  another  and  another,  until 
this  righteous  old  man  was  for  a  season  laid  under  an  inter 
dict,  so  that  his  lips  were  sealed  that  he  might  not  preach 
the  gospel  he  loved.  He  was  afterwards  released,  and  he  died 
in  the  triumphs  of  faith. 

It  was  in  the  year  1746,  about  130  years  ago,  that  the  Anti- 
Burghers,  to  whom  Dr.  Bullions  belonged,  had  their  quarrel 
with  the  Burghers,  and  the  one  body  became  two  with  these 
respective  names.  They  split  on  a  clause  in  the  oath  re 
quired  to  be  taken  by  the  freemen  of  certain  boroughs,  and 
the  inhabitants  being  called  burgesses,  those  who  were  willing 
to  take  the  oath  were  called  Burghers,  and  those  who 
refused  were  called  Anti-Burghers.  The  oath  expressed 
"their  hearty  allowance  of  the  true  religion  at  present  pro 
fessed  within  the  realm,  and  authorized  by  the  laws  thereof." 

It  was  contended  that  the  words  "  true  religion  at  present 
professed"  was  an  admission  that  the  Established  Church 
was  the  true  religion,  and  therefore  the  one  party  would  not 
take  the  oath.  The  contest  was  very  fierce,  and  went  into 
churches,  hamlets,  and  houses.  Friendships,  old  and  warm, 
went  out  before  the  storm  that  swept  over  the  country. 
Many  interesting  stories  of  the  times  are  handed  down. 

Johnny  Morten,  a  keen  Burgher,  and  Andrew  Gebbie,  a 
decided  Anti-Burgher,  both  lived  in  the  same  house,  but  at 
opposite  ends,  and  it  was  the  bargain  that  each  should  keep 
his  own  side  of  the  house  well  thatched.  When  the  dispute 
about  the  principles  of  their  kirks,  and  especially  the  offen 
sive  clause  in  the  oath,  grew  hot,  the  two  neighbors  ceased  to 
speak  to  each  other.  But  one  day  they  happened  to  be  on 
the  roof  at  the  same  time,  each  repairing  the  thatch  in  the 
slope  of  the  roof  on  his  own  side,  and  when  they  had  worked 


380  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

up  to  the  top,  there  they  were — face  to  face.  They  couldn't 
flee,  so  at  last  Andrew  took  off  his  cap  and,  scratching  his 
head,  said,  "Johnnie,  you  and  me,  I  think,  hae  been  very 
foolish  to  dispute,  as  we  hae  done,  concerning  Christ's  will 
about  our  kirks,  until  we  hae  clean  forgot  His  will  about 
ourselves ;  and  we  hae  fought  sae  bitterly  for  what  we  ca'  the 
truth,  that  it  has  ended  in  spite.  Whatever's  wrang,  it's  per 
fectly  certain  that  it  never  can  be  right  to  be  uncivil, 
unneighborly,  unkind,  in  fac,  tae  hate  ane  anither.  Na,  na, 
that's  the  deevil's  wark,  and  no  God's.  Noo,  it  strikes  me 
that  maybe  it's  wi'  the  kirk  as  wi'  this  house ;  ye're  working 
on  ae  side  and  me  on  the  t'ither,  but  if  we  only  do  our  wark 
weel,  we  will  meet  at  the  tap  at  last.  Gie's  your  han',  auld 
neighbor!"  And  so  they  shook  han',  and  were  the  best 
o*  freens  ever  after. 

It  did  not  remain  for  Dr.  Bullions  and  my  father  to  "  meet 
at  the  top"  before  they  were  one  in  heart,  soul  and  mind. 
They  loved  at  first  sight,  and  so  much  the  more  so  as  they 
saw  the  day  approaching  when  they  would  sit  down  in  the 
same  General  Assembly  and  Church  of  the  first-born,  whose 
names  are  written  in  heaven.  Yet  I  have  often  thought  of 
the  solid  comfort  those  two  pastors  now  take  in  the  Church 
on  high,  where  the  wicked,  and  the  ignorant  and  bigoted  and 
unreasonable,  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  sons  of 
thunder  are  at  rest.  They  sing  together  the  song  of  Moses 
and  the  Lamb,  and  whether  David  wrote  it,  or  Watts  made 
a  version  of  it,  or  Rouse  metred  it,  or  Sternhold  and  Hop 
kins,  or  Tate  and  Brady,  or  whether  they  read  two  lines  and 
sing,  or  only  one,  I  know  not,  or  what  "  the  players  on  instru 
ments  who  shall  be  there"  will  have  to  play  on,  is  all  unre- 
vealed  unless  the  harps  and  the  trumpets  are  to  be  for  the 
use  of  the  saints  ;  but  of  this  I  am  sure,  that  they  two — those 
glorious  old  pastors  of  the  White  and  the  Yellow  churches, 
now  enjoy 

"  The  song  of  them  that  triumph, 

The  shout  of  them  that  feast, 

And  they  who  with  their  Leader 


THE  MEANEST   WOMAN  IN  NEW   YORK.     381 

Have  conquered  in  the  fight, 
Forever,  and  forever 
Are  clad  in  robes  of  white. 

O  holy  placid  harp  notes 
Of  that  eternal  hymn  !" 

Can  you  tell  me  what  is  the  use  of  waiting  till  we  meet  at 
the  top  before  we,  who  are  to  be  one  up  there,  shall  be  one  ? 
Let  us  try  it  on  among  those  who  are  of  one  name,  who  not 
only  have  the  same  Bible,  but  have  the  same  creeds  and 
catechisms.  Surely  there  is  no  good  reason  why  these 
Presbyterians  of  many  subordinate  names,  yet  all  one  in  the 
belief  of  the  truth,  should  not  be  so  related  or  confederated 
as  to  be  in  substance  one,  having  members  indeed,  but  really 
and  truly  one  for  the  edifying  of  the  body  of  Christ.  Some 
thirty  or  forty  of  these  limbs  are  now  scattered  over  the 
world,  waiting  for  the  manifestation  of  some  power  to  draw 
them  to  their  several  places,  so  that  all,  being  fitly  compacted 
together,  may  form  a  stately  temple  to  the  glory  of  its  Head 
and  King.  There  is  no  reason  for  their  present  dismember 
ment  that  will  have  any  force  or  value  in  the  air  of  heaven. 
The  White  and  the  Yellow  meeting  houses  will  be  of  the 
same  color  in  the  shine  of  the  Lamb  who  is  the  light  of  the 
upper  sky. 


THE  MEANEST  WOMAN   IN   NEW  YORK. 

She  lives  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town.  And  this 
is  what  she  did  and  does.  In  the  name  of  charity  she  gave 
out  some  dress-making  to  the  inmates  of  one  of  the  institu 
tions  for  reforming  and  saving  women  supposed  to  be  lost. 
When  the  work  was  done,  and  well  done,  the  fashionable 
and  charitable  lady  was  not  ready  to  pay  the  bill,  which 
amounted  to  the  enormous  sum  of  $12.  The  same  work,  if 
it  had  been  done  at  a  fashionable  dress-maker's,  would  have 
cost  her  $25,  perhaps  $50.  She  had  no  complaint  to  make 


382  IREN^EUS  LETTERS. 

of  the  manner  in  which  the  work  was  done ;  but  she  haggled 
about  the  price,  and,  as  she  gave  out  the  work  in  charity, 
she  thought,  probably,  that  the  charity  should  be  extended 
to  her  and  not  to  the  poor  sewing  woman  who  had  earned 
the  money.  One  month  passed  away,  and  another,  and  six 
more,  while  this  wealthy  and  charitable  woman,  with  one 
excuse  and  another,  put  off  paying  the  poor  girl  who  was 
seeking  to  earn  an  honest  living  and  turn  from  her  evil  ways. 
But  she  could  not  get  her  hard-earned  money  from  this  lady 
patroness.  Finally,  in  despair,  she  had  recourse  to  the  law, 
by  the  aid  of  an  agency,  and  the  prospect  of  exposure,  in  the 
character  of  a  fraud,  brought  the  lady  to  terms  and  she  paid 
the  full  amount ! 

And  I  have  styled  her  the  meanest  woman  in  New  York. 
If  any  one  knows  of  meaner  men  or  women  than  they  are 
who  defraud  in  the  name  of  charity,  who  do  wickedness 
under  the  pretence  of  benevolence,  let  them  mention  the 
facts  and  I  will  modify  the  opinion.  Further :  women,  as  a 
general. thing,  are  so  much  better  than  men,  more  sympa 
thetic,  charitable  and  liberal,  that  a  business  like  this  is 
meaner  in  a  woman  than  it  would  be  in  those  hard  old 
tyrants  called  men.  When  a  pious  woman  of  fashion,  a 
leader  perhaps  in  the  benevolent  operations  of  the  church, 
first  directress  of  this  society,  and  manageress  of  that,  and 
treasurer  of  another ;  who  thinks  nothing  of  paying  $500  for 
a  dress  for  one  evening's  wear,  and,  to  be  very  charitable, 
employs  a  poor  fallen  woman  struggling  with  poverty  and 
honesty,  and  then  neglects  to  pay  her  wages,  she  deserves  to 
be  labelled  as  among  the  meanest  of  her  sex.  Her  standing 
in  the  church  and  society  only  increases  her  meanness,  and 
draws  upon  her  the  aggravated  contempt  of  all  rightminded 
ladies. 

There  is  in  our  city  a  society,  with  whose  works  I  have 
been  conversant  for  ten  or  a  dozen  years  past,  whose  records 
are  dark  with  stories  of  such  wrongs  as  this.  It  is  a  society 
so  humble  in  its  sphere  and  so  righteous  in  its  purposes  ;  so 
still  and  yet  so  strong,  founded  in  the  two  great  virtues  that 
illustrate  the  divine  character,  and  therefore  that  of  the  best 


THE  MEANEST  WOMAN  IN  'NEW   YORK.     383 

of  human  character, — the  virtues  of  justice  and  mercy, — that 
it  commends  itself  to  the  hearty  sympathy  and  support  of 
the  wise  and  good.  Its  object  is  to  "  Protect  Working 
Women"  in  their  rights  to  what  they  earn  :  finding  employ 
ment  for  them,  and  seeing  that  their  wages  are  paid  accord 
ing  to  agreement.  This  "  Protective  Union"  has  its  office  at 
No.  38  Bleecker  street,  just  out  of  Broadway.  If  you  will 
bear  with  me,  I  will  tell  you  a  little  more  of  the  good  it  does 
by  revealing,  punishing  and  preventing  the  oppression  of  the 
poor  by  the  rich  and  mean.  Honest  pay  for  honest  work  is 
its  motto.  It  tells  us  that  the  petty  frauds  imposed  on  igno 
rant,  helpless,  industrious  working  women,  are  innumerable. 
To  expose  such  frauds  and  save  the  suffering  from  greater 
suffering,  the  society  hears  their  complaints,  uses  the  gentle 
argument  of  reason  and  compassion,  and  when  these  fail, 
then  the  society  puts  forth  the  arm  of  the  law,  takes  by  the 
throat  the  fashionable  lady  who  defrauds  the  poor  of  her 
wages,  and  says,  in  that  persuasive  language  which  law  only 
uses,  "  Pay  her  what  thou  owest."  It  is  beautiful  to  observe 
how  quickly  a  mean  rich  women  listens  to  the  dulcet  voice 
of  a  legal  summons.  "  Really,  I  declare  now,  do  excuse  me, 
but  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it :  O  yes,  that  little  bill ;  yes, 
yes  :  let  me  see,  ten  dollars,  was  it  ?  Certainly." 

"  And  the  costs,  madam." 

"  Costs  ?  costs  ?  what  costs  ?"  says  the  lady,  "  I  thought  it 
cost  $10." 

"  Yes,  but  the  costs  of  the  proceedings  :  the  writ,  the  ser 
vice,  the  fees,  you  see :  $5.65 :  and  the  interest  on  the  bill, 
what's  been  a  running  a  year  now  and  a  little  more :  it 
amounts  to  $16.40." 

"  Well,  I  will  send  it  around  in  the  course  of  a  day  or  two." 

"  You  had  better  pay  it  now  and  save  further  costs :  an 
execution  will — ' 

"  Execution !  you  don't  mean  anybody's  going  to  be 
hung?" 

"No,  no:  an  execution  is  a  writ  to  be  served  on  your 
goods  and  chattels,  to  sell  'em,  and  get  the  money  to  satisfy 
this  'ere  little  bill :  guess  you'd  better  pay  it  now." 


384  IRENES  US  LETTERS. 

And  so  the  lady  squirms  a  while  longer  and  finally  pays 
the  bill :  the  poor  sewing  woman  gets  her  pay  in  full ;  the 
society  gets  its  costs ;  and  the  lady  gets  a  lesson.  If  she 
tells  of  it,  so  much  the  better,  for  the  lesson  is  useful  to  all 
who  are  in  the  habit  of  defrauding  the  hireling  of  his  wages 
or  keeping  back  that  which  is  due  to  such  as  have  none  to 
help  them.  In  one  year,  the  last  year,  the  society  collected 
unpaid  lawful  wages  for  poor  women,  amounting  to  $2,544.31, 
in  average  sums  of  about  $3.50.  It  has  also,  in  the  last  seven 
years,  lent  to  poor  women  in  small  sums  to  the  amount  of 
$2,145.45,  and  has  been  repaid  by  them  every  cent  except 
about  $25  still  due  !  It  has  recovered  for  these  women  their 
wages  due  and  refused,  $16,411.29,  and  this  is  but  a  fraction 
of  what  it  has  secured  for  its  helpless  people  in  making  em 
ployers  faithful  to  their  agreements,  for  fear  of  being  put 
through  a  course  of  legal  suasion. 

The  most  common  and  severest  form  of  swindling  poor 
women,  is  that  pursued  by  the  agents  of  inferior  sewing 
machines :  the  old  and  honorable  companies  never  resort  to 
such  measures  :  but  a  set  of  sharpers  may  trade  even  in  the 
best  machines,  hiring  them  out  to  women  who  are  to  pay 
$5.00  a  month  for  the  use  of  them,  and  to  own  the  machine 
when  its  price,  a  very  high  price,  has  been  paid  in  these 
instalments.  In  case  of  default  for  a  single  month,  the  agent 
seizes  the  machine,  declares  the  payments  forfeited,  carries 
it  off,  and  the  poor  woman  is  helpless.  The  society  has 
largely  broken  up  this  iniquity,  and  the  best  companies  now 
make  such  liberal  arrangements  with  their  machines,  that 
swindlers  stand  a  poor  chance  of  making  anything  by  their 
operations. 

The  society  sends  its  officers  to  reason  with  employers,  in 
behalf  ol  complaining  women,  and  seeks  out  the  truth,  which 
is  not  always  on  the  side  of  the  complaint.  It  often  succeeds 
without  using  pressure.  But  when  soft  words  fail,  it  uses 
force.  Mary  Thompson  was  employed  to  make  a  bridal 
dress,  and  when  the  wedding  day  came,  $30  were  still  due  to 
Mary  for  her  hard  work  :  but  she  couldn't  get  it.  The  bride 
was  married  in  the  dress  for  the  making  of  which  the  poor 


THE   GOOD   DR.   MUHLENBERG.  3^5 

sewing  woman  was  not  paid ;  and  the  happy  husband  was 
not  so  happy  when  the  bill  was  soon  afterwards  presented 
to  him,  with  $14.50  costs  added  to  it.  His  bride  was  dearer 
to  him  than  he  had  ever  thought.  It  is  pleasant  also  to 
hear  that  a  lawyer  of  our  city  had  a  taste  of  the  excellence 
of  his  own  profession,  by  being  sued  for  the  wages  of  a  gov 
erness.  Being  himself  a  lawyer  he  managed  to  stave  off  the 
payment  of  $17.75  until  the  costs  carried  up  the  bill  to 
$32.25,  and  then  he  had  to  pay  it  all.  Verdict,  served  him 
right. 

In  many  ways  besides  these,  this  wise  and  kind  society 
wields  its  power  for  good  to  those  who  want  it  most.  It 
greatly  needs  pecuniary  aid  to  make  it  more  useful.  And 
they  who  give  even  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  those  who  are 
laboring  in  such  a  blessed  work,  shall  in  no  wise  fail  of  their 
reward. 


THE  GOOD  DR.  MUHLENBERG. 

"  I  would  not  live  ahvay." 

A  life-like  portrait  of  the  blessed  old  man,  in  the  volume  by 
Sister  Anne  Ayres,  brings  him  back  as  to  me  he  looked,  one 
winter  morning,  when  he  came  down  early  and  climbed  into 
my  fifth-story  office.  He  was  quite  out  of  breath  when  he 
reached  the  height,  and  I  waited  with  some  anxiety  to  know 
why,  for  the  first  time,  he  had  wound  his  way  up  the  cork 
screw  stairway.  Presently  he  spoke,  with  a  soft,  sweet  voice, 
his  face  beaming  with  human  love  and  heavenly  grace — a 
saint  in  every  line  : 

"Good  Friday  is  at  hand,  and  as  I  was  putting  on  my 
clothes  this  morning  I  said  to  myself,  '  What  a  happy  thing 
it  would  be  if  all  the  churches,  of  every  Christian  name,  would 
observe  it  as  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer  ;  I  will  go  down  to 
my  friend  at  the  Observer  office  and  see  if  he  will  favor  the 
idea,  and  I  will  take  his  response  as  an  indication  of  Provi 
dence  as  to  the  expediency  of  making  the  suggestion  public.'" 


386  IRENsEUS  LETTERS. 

When  I  assured  him  of  my  cordial  concurrence  in  the" 
thought  and  our  willingness  to  second  it  publicly,  and  to 
strive  earnestly  to  make  the  proposal  universally  acceptable^ 
the  good  man  wept  for  joy,  gave  audible  thanks  to  God,  and 
I  thought  he  would  embrace  me,  so  great  was  his  surprise 
and  delight. 

"  Yes,"  he  added,  "  I  confess  it.  I  was  afraid  you  would 
not  help  me." 

From  that  time  onward  he  was  free  to  speak  with  me  in 
regard  to  the  good  works  to  which  his  life  was  devoted,  and 
I  learned  to  love  and  revere  him  more  ind  more  while  he 
lived. 

He  is  (not  was,  for  such  as  he  live  long  after  they  are 
buried)  a  living  illustration  of  the  fact  that  a  man  may  be  in 
the  world  and  not  of  it;  above  it  while  he  is  in  it.:  a  godly 
man  of  action  and  business  as  well  as  of  prayer  and  faith.  In 
him  was  no  guile.  He  would  suffer  wrong  sooner  than  do 
wrong.  He  was  not  original ;  he  had  a  pattern,  and  that  pat 
tern  was  Christ. 

The  volume  gives  his  early  life,  and  shows  the  steps  by  which 
he  walked  from  the  Lutheran  Church,  in  which  he  was  bap 
tized,  to  the  Episcopal,  where  he  was  confirmed ;  after  the 
minister,  Mr.  Kemper,  assured  him  that  "  regeneration  does 
not  mean  a  change  of  heart." 

Then  he  resolved  to  give  up  going  to  the  theatre,  of  which 
he  was  rather  fond,  considering  it  one  of  "  the  pomps  and 
vanities  of  the  world  '  that  he  had  vowed  to  renounce.  Of 
his  ministry  in  this  city,  his  wonderful  devotedness  to  the 
sick  and  suffering,  his  fatherhood  of  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  and 
of  the  homes  at  St.  Johnland  on  Long  Island,  the  book 
before  me  is  a  graphic,  life-like  story,  every  page  the  record 
of  some  good  deed  done,  the  whole  a  record  that  angels 
might  read  with  wonder,  love  and  praise. 

Dr.  Muhlenberg  was  not  one  of  your  softly,  untempered, 
half-baked  men,  afrs.id  to  speak  out  and  say  what  he  felt. 
He  went  one  day  to  the  office  of  a  rich  friend  to  ask  him,  as 
landlord,  to  release  a  poor  woman  from  her  rent,  which  was 
due.  Failing,  he  begged  for  a  small  donation  for  the  widow, 


THE   GOOD  DR.  MUHLENBERG.  3&7 

which  was  also  refused.  Then  he  berated  his  friend  in  good 
set  terms,  adding :  "  I  would  rather  take  my  chance  for  hea 
ven  with  the  meanest  beggar  in  New  York  than  with  you." 
It  gratifies  one's  depravity  to  know  that  the  very  best  men  do 
and  say  things  that  we  are  chided  for,  when  human  nature 
asserts  itself  in  honest  rebuke  of  wrong. 

When  the  elegant  church  of  St.  Thomas  was  going  up, 
south  of  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  Dr.  Muhlenberg  sought  to  have 
the  bells  dispensed  with,  for  fear  they  would  disturb  the 
patients  in  their  sufferings.  But  he  failed,  and  the  bells  went 
up,  and  made  their  chimes,  to  the  good  man's  great  annoyance. 
Some  years  afterwards  the  Fifth  avenue  Presbyterian  church 
began  to  rise  on  the  north  side  of  the  Hospital,  and  nearer  to 
it  than  St.  Thomas.  Again  the  Dr.  was  full  of  fears  for  his 
suffering  patients,  and  he  went  to  Dr.  John  Hall,  the  pastor,  to 
pour  out  his  feelings.  He  began  very  gently  by  congratulat 
ing  him  on  the  progress  of  the  new  building,  and  then 
remarked,  as  if  incidentally  : 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  be  soon  having  a  bell  in  the  new 
tower." 

"  No,"  said  Dr.  Hall,  "  we  feared  it  might  disturb  the  patients 
in  your  Hospital,  and  we  have  concluded  not  to  have  a  bell." 

The  good  old  man  was  completely  taken  aback,  and 
exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  you  are  more  considerate  than  my  own  people." 

I  would  not  make  a  private  party,  however  pleasant,  dis 
tinguished  and  memorable,  the  subject  of  public  remark,  but 
finding  a  reference  to  it  here,  I  may.  It  was  one  of  those 
episodes  in  life  that  old  men  enjoy  with  a  flavor  which  youth 
does  not  know.  For  old  age  has  its  pleasures,  as  Cicero  and 
other  wise  and  great  men  have  found.  Of  this  venerable 
company  I  was  made  one,  on  account  of  my  youth,  as  the 
kind  and  clever  note  of  invitation  from  the  accomplished  host 
— himself  a  host — very  neatly  intimated.  Mr.  Charles  H. 
Russell  sat  by  the  side  of  Dr.  Adams.  Dr.  Muhlenberg,  Mr. 
W.  C.  Bryant,  Mr.  James  Brown,  Mr.  Peter  Cooper,  Dr.  Cal- 
houn,  of  goodly  Lebanon,  and  one  more,  composed  the  com 
pany. 


388  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

Dr.  Adams  requested  Dr.  Muhlenberg  to  ask  the  blessing. 
The  patriarch  complied  in  these  rhythmical  words : 

"  Solemn  thanks  be  our  grace,  for  the  years  that  are  past, 
With  their  blessings  untold,  and  though  this  be  our  last, 
Yet,  joyful  our  trust  that  through  Christ  'twill  be  given, 
All  here  meet  again,  at  his  table  in  heaven." 

It  was  very  natural  that  we  should  pass  from  this  brief 
poem  and  prayer  to  others  by  the  same  author,  and  I  asked 
Dr.  Muhlenberg  for  the  correct  reading  of  a  line  in  his  cele 
brated  hymn, — 

"  I  would  not  live  alway." 

It  is  sometimes  printed  "the  few  lund  mornings," and  again, 
"  the  few  lurid  mornings."  "  Which  of  these,  Dr.,  is  the  true 
reading?" 

"  Either  or  neither,"  he  replied  with  some  spirit.  "  I  do 
not  believe  in  the  hymn  :  it  does  not  express  the  better  feel 
ings  of  the  saint,  and  I  would  not  write  it  now." 

This  was  a  surprise  to  me,  but  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  say 
so. 

Mr.  Bryant  took  a  very  cheerful  view  of  old  age,  and  dis 
claimed  any  feelings  of  depression  or  infirmity  with  the 
advance  of  life.  When  some  pleasantry  enlivened  the  table, 
Mr.  Brown,  who  sat  next  to  me,  and  was  somewhat  hard  of 
hearing,  looked  up  deploringly,  and  said  : 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  I  lose  by  being  deaf." 

"Aye,  Mr.  Brown,"  I  replied,  "and you  don't  know  how 
much  you  gain  !" 

Of  those  six  guests,  four  have  put  on  immortality.  Dr. 
Calhoun  died  a  few  months  afterwards.  Mr.  James  Brown 
followed,  hand  longo  intervallo.  Then  Dr.  Muhlenberg  slept 
with  his  beloved  in  St.  Johnland.  Mr.  Bryant  had  his  wish 
fulfilled  in  being  buried  in  June  among  his  own  flowers  in 
Roslyn. 

Mr.  Peter  Cooper  I  met  at  the  De  Lesseps  dinner  the  other 
night,  and  his  seat  was  next  to  mine.  It  must  be  wisdom, 
not  age,  that  puts  me  with  these  venerable  men.  He  said  to 


INTERCOURSE   WITH  DR.   ADAMS.  389 

me :  "  I  am  ninety  years  old,  and  do  not  feel  the  effects  of 
age." 

Wonderful  old  man  :  useful  and  honored  to  the  last :  un 
doubtedly  the  "  first  citizen"  now. 

Dr.  Muhlenberg  loved  Dr.  Adams  tenderly,  which  is  not  re 
markable  ;  but  I  find  in  this  volume  an  observation  by  Dr.  A. 
that  is  characteristic  of  both  him  and  his  friend.  Dr.  Adams 
says: 

"  More  than  once  I  have  said  to  my  family,  when  returning  from  some 
interview  with  him,  in  which  he  had  honored  me  with  a  kiss,  that  I  felt  as  if 
the  Apostle  John  had  embraced  me  and  repeated  in  my  ear  some  words 
which  had  been  whispered  to  him  by  the  Master  on  whose  bosom  he  had 
leaned  at  the  supper." 

When  Dr.  Muhlenberg  rested  from  his  labors,  and  was  not, 
for  God  took  him,  we  fondly  trusted  that  some  one,  in  his 
spirit  and  power,  would  take  up  the  work  he  left.  Others  do 
perpetuate  the  useful  charities  he  founded.  But  where  is  the 
living  presence  of  the  model  saint  and  pastor  and  friend? 
Who  among  us  now  sanctifies  the  city  by  a  life  of  supernal 
beauty  in  its  mephitic  atmosphere  ? 

Dr.  Muhlenberg  left  a  hoarded  heap  of  gold  behind  him  ! 
Two  gold  pieces — $40,  in  all — this  was  his  savings  to  pay  for 
his  burial !  All  that  he  had,  all  that  he  received,  all  that  he 
was,  he  gave  to  Christ  and  his  friends  while  living,  and  died 
leaving  not  enough  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his  funeral. 


INTERCOURSE  WITH  DR.  ADAMS. 

Now  that  the  first  gush  of  public  sorrow  has  subsided,  and 
others  have  said  what  was  in  their  hearts  of  our  departed 
friend  and  elder  brother — the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Wm.  Adams — 
it  may  not  be  presuming  if  another  hand  should  bring  a  hum 
ble  tribute  for  his  tomb. 

When  he  contemplated  the  resignation  of  his  pastoral 
charge  on  Madison  Square,  to  accept  the  Presidency  of  the 


1REN&US  LETTERS. 

Theological  Seminary,  he  was  doubtful  as  to  the  line  of  his 
duty,  and  sent  for  friends  to  counsel  on  the  great  and  difficult 
question.  It  was  not  for  me  to  advise  such  a  man  ;  but  when 
he  would  have  an  opinion,  I  could  only  say :  "  It  is  quite 
probable  that  you  are  called  of  God  to  be  the  President  of 
the  Seminary,  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  you  retire  from  the 
Madison  Square  pulpit.  A  colleague  or  assistant  may  supply 
your  lack  of  service,  when  you  assume  other  labors  :  but  such 
a  life  as  yours  will  be  rounded  and  complete  when  you  die  in 
the  highest  office  on  earth — a  Christian  PASTOR." 

He  resigned  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  the  people,  when  he 
decided  to  take  the  Chair,  and  it  is  to  be  presumed  he  did 
not  regret  the  decision.  With  the  Apostle  he  could  always 
say,  "  This  one  thing  I  do  ;"  and  he  often  spoke,  in  private, 
to  me  in  terms  of  high  commendation  of  those  men  who  spend 
their  strength  and  time  in  the  work  to  which  they  are  called, 
declining  to  divert  their  minds  or  employ  their  powers  in 
extra  labors,  however  useful  and  important  they  might  be. 

He  was  invited  to  take  part  in  the  Centennial  Celebration 
of  the  Battle  of  Lexington,  where  the  first  blow  of  the  Ameri 
can  Revolution  was  struck,  and  the  shot  was  fired  that  was 
heard  around  the  world.  He  invited  me  to  go  with  him,  to 
be  the  guest  of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Magoon,  in  Medford, 
near  to  Lexington.  It  so  happened  that  I  had  at  that  time 
the  pistol  from  which  that  shot  was  fired :  the  pistol  that 
Major  Pitcairn  discharged  when  he  gave  the  first  order  to 
British  soldiers  to  fire  on  the  Americans.  Armed  with  this 
pistol  and  its  twin,  I  joined  Dr.  Adams  and  went  to  the  bat 
tle-field.  But  there  was  no  fighting  now.  Those  three  days 
of  social  life  with  him  and  his  friends  were  ideal  days.  He 
loved  to  take  me  to  houses  and  hills  and  churches  in  that 
region  where  his  youth  and  his  young  ministry  were  spent : 
where  he  first  loved  and  was  married :  he  lived  over  the 
scenes  of  early  manhood,  when  life  was  all  before  him  and 
hopes  of  usefulness  were  high.  He  was  young  again.  With 
his  children  and  theirs  around  him,  and  a  thousand  sweet 
associations,  every  moment  his  loving  nature  awoke  as  in  the 
morning  of  spring,  and  he  was  fresh,  buoyant  and  cheerful,  as 


INTERCOURSE  WITH  DR.  ADAMS.  391 

if  he  were  on  the  verge  of  thirty  and  not  of  three  score  and 
ten. 

We  were  very  desirous  to  have  him  go  to  Edinburgh  to  the 
General  Council  in  1877,  and  it  was  with  the  greatest  reluct 
ance  that  he  yielded  to  the  pressing  solicitations  of  his  breth 
ren.  He  did  not  like  to  go  away  from  home.  And  when 
he  reached  London  he  was  thoroughly  homesick.  He  came 
from  the  hotel  where  he  was  in  the  midst  of  friends,  and 
sought  for  rooms  in  the  private  lodgings  I  was  enjoying. 
Here  he  met  my  daughters,  and  when  he  gave  them  each  a 
paternal  kiss,  he  said,  "  There,  that's  the  first  thing  like  home 
I  have  had  since  I  came  away."  He  said  he  longed  to  go 
back,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  he  spoke.  It  was 
wonderful  to  see  a  stately,  dignified,  elegant  old  man,  full  of 
honors  and  friends,  whom  every  one  was  proud  to  welcome 
and  entertain,  so  child-like  and  simple,  so  full  of  affection  for 
those  he  had  left  behind,  that  his  only  care  now  was  to  get 
back  again  as  soon  as  he  could. 

In  Edinburgh  it  was  my  lot  to  be  attacked  with  illness  at 
the  house  of  my  kind  friend,  Dr.  Blaikie.  The  anxiety  of 
Dr.  Adams,  his  sympathy,  his  tenderness,  his  attentions, 
were  those  of  an  elder  brother  or  parent.  He  has  told  me 
since  that  his  fears  were  great  that  I  would  not  recover. 
This  apprehension  was  the  result  of  his  own  great  depression 
of  spirits,  for  it  was  not  shared  by  any  one  else.  But  it 
brought  out  the  exceeding  love  of  his  heart,  his  overflowing 
sympathy,  and'it  endeared  him  to  me  more  tenderly  than 
ever.  How  proud  of  him  we  all  were  at  that  great  Council 
of  men  from  all  lands !  If  there  was  one  in  that  assembly  of 
divines,  of  loftier  and  nobler  mien  than  Dr.  Adams,  I  did  not 
see  him. 

Some  days  after  the  Council  dissolved,  I  was  travelling 
from  London  to  Folkestone,  on  my  way  to  Paris.  Into  the 
same  compartment  of  the  rail-car  came  an  English  gentle 
man,  whose  servant  in  livery  stowed  away  his  travel- impedi 
ments  and  retired.  The  stranger,  a  fine-looking  man,  of 
courtly  manners  and  address,  very  soon  began  to  converse 
with  me  in  the  manner  said  to  be  peculiar  to  my  countrymen. 


LETTERS. 

He  put  questions  to  me.  Having  ascertained  that  I  was  an 
American  traveller,  and  from  New  York,  he  said  to  me : 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Adams  ?" 

When  he  learned  that  Dr.  A.  was  a  valued  friend  of  mine, 
he  went  on  to  say : 

"  What  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  Christian  gentleman  he 
is.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  in  London  but  a  few 
days  ago,  and  to  present  him  to  Mr.  Gladstone,  who  was 
charmed  with  him,  and  expressed  to  me  privately  his  admira 
tion  of  the  American  scholar  and  divine." 

I  did  not  learn  my  travelling  companion's  name,  until  I 
related  the  incident  to  Dr.  Adams,  who  recalled  him  at  once. 

When  the  appeal  came  to  Christians  in  America  to  send 
a  deputation  to  the  Emperor  of  Russia  to  ask  liberty  of  wor 
ship  for  dissenters  in  the  Baltic  provinces  of  his  empire,  we 
held  a  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance,  and  it  was  easily 
resolved  that  such  a  deputation  was  to  be  desired,  but  as  the 
men  must  go  at  their  own  charges,  over  the  ocean  and  the 
continent,  where  were  the  men  to  be  found?  In  the  silence 
that  ensued,  Dr.  Adams  came  across  the  room  and  whispered 
in  my  ear,  "  I  will  go."  I  presume  it  was  the  only  time  he 
ever  nominated  himself.  But  the  service  was  not  one  to  be 
sought,  and  volunteers  were  not  to  be  found.  He  was 
appointed  at  once :  others  followed :  the  deputation  was 
filled  :  it  went  on  its  mission,  and  God  gave  it  great  success. 

His  benevolence  was  only  equalled  by  his  facility  for  lead 
ing  others  to  be  generous.  They  relied  so  justly  on  his  judg 
ment  that  they  gave  with  confidence  and  pleasure  when  he 
endorsed  the  object.  And  the  amounts  of  money  given  by 
his  friends  to  charitable  objects  at  his  indication,  can  never 
now  be  added  up ;  but,  if  they  could,  the  sum  would  be  enor 
mous  and  astonishing.  A  foreign  missionary  lost  the  sum 
of  $3,000,  and  Dr.  Adams  said  to  me  :  "  Let  us  make  it  up  to 
him  for  the  benefit  of  his  children.  You  raise  one  thousand, 
and  I  will  raise  two."  He  easily  got  his  before  I  got  mine, 
but  it  was  all  obtained,  and  is  now  bearing  fruit. 

I  am  very  sorry  that  I  cannot  lay  my  hand  on  his  playful 
note,  in  February,  1876,  asking  me  to  come  and  dine  with 


INTERCOURSE  WITH  DR.   ADAMS.  393 

some  young  friends  and  help  to  keep  them  in  order.  Among 
the  guests  at  that  memorable  dinner,  there  was  no  one,  ex 
cept  Dr.  Calhoun,  missionary  from  Mount  Lebanon,  and  my 
self,  less  than  four  score  years  of  age.  Four  of  them  pre 
ceded  Dr.  Adams  to  the  Eternal  state.  With  what  graceful 
dignity,  charming  simplicity  and  ease,  he  sat  at  the  head  of 
his  hospitable  table  on  that  occasion  :  drawing  each  one  out 
according  to  his  measure  and  manner,  and  filling  up  every 
pause  with  his  own  ready  anecdote  and  reminiscence. 

Only  last  May  I  received  from  Dr.  Adams  a  letter  answer 
ing  some  inquiries  in  which  he  writes  of  Dr.  Muhlenberg  and 
the  dinner  to  which  reference  is  made  above.  He  says : 

"  I  was  expecting  a  visit  at  that  time  from  a  relative  in  Connecticut,  more 
than  ninety  years  of  age,  who,  at  this  very  time,  is  more  elastic  than  I  am. 

"  It  so  happened  that  a  few  days  before  I  had  received  a  very  pleasant  let 
ter  from  the  late  Richard  H.  Dana,  then  past  90,  containing  a  very  pleasant 
message  for  Bryant,  so  that  I  played  the  part  of  hyphen  between  the  two 
great  poets. 

"  I  have  been  reading  this  evening  the  life  of  Dr.  Muhlenberg,  and  have 
been  melted  into  tenderness  by  many  of  its  incidents.  He  was  a  veritable 
saint,  with  nothing  of  asceticism  about  him,  he  knew  the  greatness  and  the 
blessedness  of  self -subjection  for  the  good  of  others.  He  was  truly  catholic 
in  spirit,  while  cordially  attached  to  his  own  church.  His  taste  was  grati 
fied  by  its  forms  of  worship  and  by  the  right  observance  of  its  Calendar. 
He  left  his  '  ideal  of  representative  communion*  as  a  legacy  with  me  and  — 

,  to  be  carried  into  execution,  and  I  am  reproached  when  looking 

upon  his  sweet  and  beautiful  face,  because  I  have  been  forgetful  of  the 
trust !  More  of  this  hereafter. 

' '  I  hope  I  shall  be  made  better  by  my  renewed  intercourse  with  Dr.  Muh 
lenberg  in  the  pages  of  this  work.  "  Cordially  yours, 

"  W.  ADAMS." 


After  Dr.  Adams  had  retired  from  the  pulpit,  and  his  suc 
cessor  was  settled,  I  made  a  sketch,  beginning  with  this  illus 
tration  :  "  If  you  would  know  what  space  you  fill  in  the 
world,  thread  a  cambric  needle,  drop  the  needle  into  the  sea, 
draw  it  out  again,  and  seethe  hole  that  is  left.  That's  you." 

The  next  week  after  the  notice  was  in  print,  he  met  me 
with  his  bright  and  loving  smile  and  said  :  "  I  get  letters 


394  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

telling  me  '  I  am  only  a  cambric  needle  in  the  water,  after 
all.' " 

Ah  me!  The  simile  now  seems  worse  than  a  mockery. 
The  City,  the  Seminary,  the  Church  at  large,  and  Dr.  Adams 
not  there.  The  vacancy  is  great.  It  will  be  years  many 
before  it  is  filled.  Israel  has  chariots  and  horsemen,  but 
where  is  the  man  like  him  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  host  ? 


THE  LATE  DR.  S.  H.   COX. 

One  of  the  most  brilliant  intellects  of  the  American  pul 
pit  passed  into  another  sky  when  Dr.  Cox  was  glorified. 
More  learned  men,  with  more  logical,  and  far  more  nicely  bal 
anced  minds,  more  useful  ministers  and  leaders,  have  lived 
in  his  day.  But  we  have  had  no  one  with  his  blazing  genius, 
bold  and  dazzling  eloquence,  range  of  imagination,  fertility 
of  illustration,  astonishing  memory,  exuberant  wit,  rapid  as 
sociation  of  ideas,  stores  of  facts  and  words  from  classic 
authors,  and  the  faculty  of  expression  that  combined  the 
sturdy,  grotesque  eccentricities  of  Carlyle  with  the  flow  and 
beauty  of  Macaulay. 

A  meteor  streams  across  the  sky,  and  for  a  brief  moment 
we  rejoice  in  its  light;  its  beauty  and  brilliancy  disappear, 
and  the  stars  shine  on  steadily  in  their  orbits.  It  is  sad  to 
know  that  so  little  of  what  Dr.  Cox  said  remains  on  the 
printed  page  or  in  the  memories  of  those  who  survive  him. 
He  did  not  write  as  he  spoke.  He  would  have  failed  as  an 
author.  No  reporting  did  justice  to  his  rhetoric,  which, 
transcending  all  rules,  was  a  law  unto  itself,  blinding  the 
eyes  and  ravishing  the  ears  of  his  hearers. 

When  he  was  told  that  Caleb  Cotton  had  said,  "Were  it 
not  for  his  Coxisms,  Dr.  Cox  would  be  a  great  man,"  Dr. 
Cox  answered,  "Yes,  he  might  have  been  Caleb  Cotton." 
He  did  have  his  Coxisms.  They  were  marked  peculiarities 
of  verbal  utterances,  by  which  he  was  distinguished  from  all 


MEMORIES  OF  DR.   SAMUEL  HANSON  COX.      395 

the  preachers  of  his  time.  Having  a  slight  impediment  in 
his  speech,  which  made  him  hesitate  on  certain  letters,  he 
selected  instinctively  words  with  such  initials  as  he  could 
utter  readily,  and  this  brought  to  his  lips  words  and  phrases 
that  startled  by  their  novelty,  size,  and  immense  fitness  to 
convey  the  idea ;  words  that  no  mortal  man  but  Dr.  Cox  or 
Thomas  Carlyle  would  have  invented  for  the  place. 

The  Latin  and  Greek  languages  were  so  familiar  that  he 
garnished  his  discourse  with  their  words,  to  the  astonish 
ment  of  the  people  and  the  bewilderment  of  the  unlearned. 

A  British  peasant  said  to  his  new  pastor  ;  "  You  don't  give 
us  any  Latin,  as  our  old  minister  did." 

•'  No,  I  do  not,  for  I  did  not  suppose  you  understood 
Latin." 

"We  don't,  sir;  but  we  pays  for  the  oest,  and  we've  a 
right  to  the  best." 

Dr.  Cox's  people  could  make  no  complaint  of  him  on  that 
score.  Who  ever  heard  him  make  a  platform  speech  with 
out  the  E  Pluribus  Unum  ? 

I  was  by  his  side  on  the  platform  when  he  was  Moderator 
of  the  New  School  Presbyterian  General  Assembly  in  Phil 
adelphia.  He  was  offering  the  prayer  in  the  morning,  and 
in  the  midst  of  it  he  said :  "O  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  thou  art 
the  ne  plus  ultra  of  our  desire,  the  sine  qua  non  of  our  faith, 
and  the  ultima  thule  of  our  hope." 

Yet  so  natural  to  him  was  this  form  of  expression,  that  he 
had  no  recollection  of  it  afterwards.  His  friend,  Dr.  E.  F. 
Hatfield,  was  by  his  side  also,  and  remembers  the  remark 
able  words. 

It  was  in  this  same  Assembly  that  a  member  from  Ohio 
cast  reflections,  in  debate,  on  Decorated  Divines,  when  Dr. 
Cox  called  him  to  order,  remarking,  with  gentle  humor : 
"  The  brother  should  not  speak  disrespectfully  of  Doctors  of 
Divinity ;  he  does  not  know  what  he  may  come  to  himself." 

When  Williams  College  made  Mr.  Cox  Dr.  Cox,  he  decli 
ned  the  Degree  in  a  characteristic  letter  to  The  New 
York  Observer,  ridiculing  the  title  and  condemning  the  dis 
tinction.  My  predecessor,  Sidney  E.  Morse,  published  the 


LETTERS. 

letter,  of  two  solid  columns.  That  is  the  letter  in  which 
occurs  the  phrase  "  semi-lunar  fardels,"  meaning  D.D.,  the 
resemblance  of  the  letter  D  to  a  half  moon  suggesting  this 
play.  But  by-and-by  Dr.  Cox  thought  better  of  it,  and  was 
then  heartily  sorry  that  he  ever  wrote  the  foolish  letter. 
But,  what  is  even  more  remarkable,  he  blamed  Mr.  Morse 
for  printing  the  letter,  saying  that  he  (Mr.  M.)  ought  "to 
have  had  sense  enough  to  decline  its  publication."  Mr. 
Morse  often  laughed  with  me  over  the  eccentricity  of  Dr, 
Cox's  mind  in  that  matter. 

His  memory  held  whole  pages  and  volumes  of  poetry  and 
prose,  which  he  could  recite  with  elegance  and  correctness, 
astonishing  and  delighting  the  favored  hearer.  Cowper's 
Task,  Scott's  Marmion,  and  Milton  were  favorites.  His 
memory  of  dates  and  names  appeared  conspicuously  in  his 
lectures  on  Biblical  Chronology,  and  the  way  in  which  he 
handled  "  Tiglath  Pilezer"  and  his  contemporaries  would 
put  the  modern  lecturer  to  confusion  if  he  were  to  attempt 
an  imitation.  I  asked  him  to  come  over  from  Brooklyn  to 
lecture  in  a  course  I  was  conducting,  but  he  refused  point 
blank,  because  when  he  had  gone  on  a  former  occasion  the 
people  did  not  attend !  I  assured  him  there  would  be  no 
lack  of  hearers,  and  he  finally  yielded  to  my  gentle  blandish 
ments.  We  walked  together  to  the  church  where  he  was  to 
speak,  going  early  to  put  up  some  maps  for  illustration. 
Though  it  was  half  an  hour  before  the  time  to  begin,  we  met 
thousands  coming  away,  and  the  vestry  and  aisles  were  so 
packed  that  we  could  scarcely  get  in.  As  we  were  strug 
gling  up,  he  said  to  me,  "  This  lecture  has  been  \\-&\\  primed." 
To  which  I,  "  And  it  will  go  off  well  too."  And  it  did.  He 
discoursed  on  BABYLON.  Thirty-five  years  have  passed  since 
that  night,  but  the  grandeur  of  the  scene,  those  hanging  gar 
dens,  the  palaces,  streets  and  battlements  of  Babylon  the 
Great  rise  now  in  lustrous  glory  on  the  memory. 

How  much  I  do  regret  that  my  dear  friend,  Dr.  Adams, 
whose  grave  is  not  yet  grass-grown,  did  not  comply  with 
my  request  to  write  out  the  introduction,  which  he  often 
related  in  company,  to  the  speech  of  Dr.  Cox  in  Exeter 


MEMORIES  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  HANSON  COX.       397 

Hall  when  he  there  represented  the  American  Bible  Soci 
ety,  before  the  British  and  Foreign.  Dr.  Adams  knew  it 
word  for  word,  and  that  it  is  in  print  I  do  not  know.  Dr. 
Cox  arrived  in  London  and  in  Exeter  Hall  after  the 
meeting  was  begun,  and  a  tirade  against  America  greeted 
him  as  he  entered.  As  the  speaker  sat  down,  Dr.  Cox  was 
announced  as  the  delegate  from  the  American  Society. 
The  terrible  denunciation  just  delivered  had  excited  the  in 
dignation  of  the  audience,  and  Dr.  Cox  was  received  with 
respectful  coldness.  But  his  splendid  figure,  his  gallant, 
courteous,  commanding  presence,  his  irresistible  smile, 
lightened  instantly  the  gloom  of  the  hall,  and  conciliated 
the  audience.  He  said  something  like  this : 

"  My  Lord,  twenty  days  ago  I  was  taken  by  the  tug  Her 
cules  from  the  quay  in  New  York  to  the  good  ship  Samson, 
lying  in  the  stream — thus,  my  lord,  going  from  strength  to 
strength — from  mythology  to  Scripture — by  the  good  hand  of 
the  Lord  I  was  brought  to  your  shores  just  in  time  to  reach 
this  house,  and  to  enter  in  the  midst  of  the  burning  denuncia 
tions  of  my  beloved  country  that  have  fallen  from  the  lips  of 
the  gentleman  who  just  sat  down.  He  has  reproached  that 
country  for  the  existence  of  slavery,  which  I  abhor  as  much 
as  he.  But  he  did  not  tell  you,  my  lord,  that  when  we  re 
volted  from  your  government,  one  of  the  reasons  alleged 
was  the  fact  that  your  king  had  forced  that  odious  institu 
tion  upon  us  in  spite  of  our  remonstrances,  and  that  the 
original  sin  rests  with  you  and  your  fathers."  [Having 
adduced  the  well-known  facts  of  history  to  prove  this 
position,  he  continued] :  "  And  now,  my  lord,  instead  of 
indulging  in  mutual  reproaches,  I  propose  that  the  gentle 
man  shall  be  Shem  and  I  will  be  Japheth,  and  taking  the 
mantle  of  charity,  we  will  walk  backward  and  cover  the 
nakedness  of  our  common  father." 

The  effect  was  instantaneous  and  overwhelming.  The  day 
was  won.  And  a  more  popular  orator  than  Dr.  Cox  was 
not  heard  during  the  anniversaries. 

The  great  picture  that  was  made  to  represent  the  for 
mation  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance  in  London  in  1846  has, 


398       »  IREN&US  LETTERS. 

as  its  central  figure,  the  person  of  Dr.  Cox  addressing  the 
Assembly.  His  speech  on  that  occasion  is  considered  by 
those  who  heard  it  as  the  greatest  of  his  whole  life.  Much 
opposition  was  made  by  the  European  delegates  to  the  in 
sertion  of  the  doctrine  of  future  punishment  into  the  plat 
form  then  forming.  The  Americans,  insisted  upon  its  intro 
duction.  Dr.  Cox  was  selected  by  them  to  make  the  speech 
in  defence  of  their  views.  He  spoke  and  conquered.  Be 
fore  his  exhibition  of  the  revelation  of  God's  will  in  his 
word,  his  vindication  of  the  faith  of  the  saints,  and  his 
vivid  illustrations  of  the  harmony  and  relations  of  the 
several  parts  of  the  evangelical  system,  the  fears  and  unbe 
lief  of  good  men  went  down  out  of  sight,  while  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  rose  upon  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  Council. 
It  was  a  triumph  of  truth  to  be  held  in  everlasting  remem 
brance. 

But  not  in  sacred  eloquence  only  was  Dr.  Cox  illustrious. 
His  reading  was  encyclical,  his  mind  cyclopedic,  his  tongue 
fluent,  mellifluous  and  tireless.  Tap  him  on  any  subject, 
and  the  stream  came  bright,  sparkling,  refreshing,  like  a 
mountain  torrent,  or  a  meadow  rivulet,  or  a  deep,  broad, 
majestic  river,  filling  the  listener  with  joy,  often  with  amaze 
ment,  always  with  new  impressions.  These  sudden  corrus- 
cations  were  the  best  things  he  did.  His  labored  prepara 
tions  were  actually  sometimes  dull.  I  heard  him  preach 
two  hours  before  the  American  Board  at  Pittsfield,  Mass., 
and  the  audience  were  tired  to  exhaustion.  He  himself  was 
so  mortified  by  the  failure  that  I  pitied  him.  Just  think  of 
that !  And  yet  the  next  day  there  sprang  up  a  question  in 
regard  to  Popery  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  he  went  off 
with  a  philippic  against  the  Man  of  Sin,  and  the  woman 
with  a  bad  name  in  the  Revelation,  so  full  of  argument,  wit, 
ridicule,  fact,  scripture,  poetry,  chronology,  prophecy  and 
pathos,  that  a  great  congregation  were  roused,  melted,  and 
convulsed.  Such  outbursts  as  these  suggested  the  remark 
when  the  November  meteoric  shower  was  first  observed,  that 
Dr.  Cox's  head  had  prgbably  exploded. 

And  something  very  like  a  meteoric  shower  it  was  when 


MEMORIES  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  HANSON'  COX.      399 

we  were  assembled  in  the  Academy  of  Music  to  receive  the 
Astronomer,  Prof.  Mitchell,  and  listen  to  him  on  behalf  of  a 
projected  Observatory  in  Central  Park.  The  house  was 
filled  with  the  most  brilliant,  intelligent,  scientific  and  cul 
tivated  audience.  Word  Was  brought  that  sudden  illness 
prevented  the  eloquent  Astronomer  from  leaving  his  bed. 
This  word  was  sent  to  me  by  the  Professor,  and  in  despair  I 
went  to  Dr.  Cox  on  the  stage,  told  him  the  distressing  truth, 
and  implored  him  to  come  to  the  rescue,  or  the  occasion 
would  be  lost.  The  assembly  joining  in  the  request,  he 
complied,  and  when  the  applause,  on  his  rising,  had  subsi 
ded,  he  said :  "  To  put  me  in  the  place  of  such  a  man  as 
Prof.  Mitchell  is  like  putting  a  rush-light  in  the  place  of 
Ursa  Major."  And  then  he  proceeded  to  deliver  a  strictly 
astronomical  discourse  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  that 
electrified  the  assembly:  every  illustration  and  allusion  of 
which,  including  many  scripture  quotations,  were  drawn 
from  the  science  itself,  as  if  it  were  the  study  of  his  life,  his 
only  study.  Not  one  man  in  ten  thousand  would  have  been 
found  equal  to  such  an  effort  in  such  circumstances.  In 

fact,  as  Mr. has  recently  said  there  are  not  more  than 

thirty  men  in  Boston  who  could  have  written  the  works  of 
Shakespeare,  I  will  undertake  to  admit  there  is  not  one  man 
in  New  York  who  could  have  made  that  speech. 

And  thus  might  I  run  on  into  other  pages  of  reminis 
cence  of  this  wonderful  man,  the  most  remarkable  man  of 
the  last  generation  in  the  pulpit  of  New  York.  If  a  merry 
heart  is  good  as  a  medicine,  how  many  doctors'  bills  Doctor 
Cox  has  saved  me.  What  noctes  ambrosianae  I  have  had 
with  him  in  the  fellowship  of  the  saints  whom  he  drew  into 
that  circle  of  Christian  Brothers  known  as  X.  A.  in  New 
York  !  He  was  its  founder !  Its  jubilee  came  this  year,  and 
Dr.  Adams  was  appointed  to  recite  its  history.  But  he  pre 
ceded  the  founder  by  a  few  brief  weeks  to  a  holier  fellowship 
on  high. 

I  do  thank  God  for  such  men,  for  their  friendship, 
for  genial  intercourse,  nightly  converse,  and  daily  service 
with  such  servants  of  Christ.  Their  names  were  long 


40°  I  RE  N^.  US  LETTERS. 

since  written  in  heaven.  The  earth  seems  dim  since  their 
light  has  gone  out.  And  as  I  close  this  letter,  the 
thought  comes  to  me  with  overpowering,  but  also  with 
exhilarating,  almost  rapturous  effect,  that  this  companion 
ship  will  soon  be  renewed,  and  into  the  widened  circle  will 
come  the  wise  and  the  good  of  all  ages  and  lands.  That 
company  will  never  breakup;  that  feast  and  flow  will  be 
everlasting. 


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